


Fictober 2019

by Hekate1308



Category: Death in Paradise, Endeavour (TV), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Lewis (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Jakes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, F/M, Fictober 2019, Firefighter Dean Winchester, Gen, Guardian Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Omega Morse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-09 10:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 25,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: A collection of my ficlets for Fictober this year. Expect most of my fandoms and usual pairings to pop up.





	1. Driving Lesson (Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale)

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am doing fictober this year. Enjoy!  
Prompt: “It will be fun, trust me.”

“It will be fun, trust me.”

Aziraphale studied the steering wheel in front of him sceptically. “I highly doubt that”.

“Angel” Crowley sighed, “We did agree that now we’ve got nothing left to worry about, we can do what we want…”

“And me learning to drive is what _you_ want –“

“Hey” Crowley snatched his left hand off the wheel and pressed a kiss against it. “That’s not what this is about. Thing is, since we finally _talked_, we’ll be spending a lot of time together, and I want the two loves of my life to get along when we do.”

Aziraphale felt himself blushing furiously. This was just the kind of thing Crowley did and said all the time now, ever since their bus drive back to his place and the talk they’d had there. When Aziraphale had asked him after the first couple of days why he felt the need to be so utterly romantic, he’d looked him in the eyes and said “I’ve been waiting for this long enough, angel” and that had been that. He’d been steadfastly ignoring his hints that he’d like a more explanatory answer ever since.

And yet there could be no mistaking the gestures he’d bestowed on him in the last few months, no thinking he was just trying to tempt Aziraphale to his side – something the angel had been very good at pretending at, for the first few centuries – no telling himself that they were at best friendly adversaries, not even friends.

And now Crowley only wanted this little thing. Just wished for Aziraphale to learn how to drive.

“What do I do then, dear?” he asked softly. In all the years Crowley had had the Bentley, he’d been content – and sometimes terrified – sitting next to him. If he had paid attention to him at all, it had most certainly not been because he had any desire to pick up on his driving techniques.

“Oh. Right” Crowley looked pleased; Aziraphale wished he’d take off the sunglasses so he could see his eyes – he loved it how they glittered in the sunlight; but Crowley wasn’t so far to leave them behind quite yet, not yet comfortable enough even if it were just the two of them, but they would get there – “So first of all you have to turn on the motor.”

“But there’s no key in the ignition” Aziraphale pointed out, feeling rather smug as he did so. There. He knew _some_ things about cars.

Crowley rolled his invisible eyes. “That’s because I would never do that to my dear girl” he all but cooed at the car. “Just tell her to start. Nicely.”

Aziraphale had known that Crowley poured quite a bit of magic and miracles into the Bentley, of course – otherwise, especially considering his driving style, there’d hardly have been a chance that the car would have survived the past ninety years. Still, this seemed to be a bit excessive.

But that was what they had saved the world for, wasn’t it? So they could indulge and be together.

So he very gently told the Bentley with his mind that he’d like to take a drive now, please, because Crowley wished them to, and suddenly the motor was on.

Crowley grinned. “See? Told you.”

He nodded, then gripped the steering wheel.

“Oh no” Crowley rubbed a hand over his knuckles “This is supposed to be a nice experience for all of us. You have to relax.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing” he confessed.

“That’s alright, you’ve got me and the Bentley to take care of you” Crowley told him with the expression of a demon who hadn’t known what to do when he first purchased his beloved horseless carriage either and had early on become determined never to learn the way humans did but was now expecting it of his – lover? He supposed they were lovers.

His heart warmed as he thought of them as lovers, and he decided to try and do this.

“We can go as slow as you want, angel” Crowley said, voice rather thick with emotion all of a sudden, “That’s why we’re here.”

Here being in the middle of the night at Tadfield air base, where it all had started, really.

No, Aziraphale suddenly realized; it had started long before then. Maybe even…

He took a deep breath he didn’t really need and decided to try and drive.

* * *

“Alright, angel, I know I said we could go slow, but you’re driving less than ten miles an hour” Crowley pointed out.

“I am just trying to get the hang of things” he defended himself.

“You won’t if you keep doing thisssssss. You can’t jussssssst drive ten miles an hour in London” Crowley hissed, although his smile rather ruined the overall impression.

“I would say it’s impossible to drive ninety miles an hour in the city, and yet you do so on a regular basis.”

“That’s because I let the streets know who’s boss. You’d just be politely asking them to not inconvenience you. This won’t do” Crowley decided.

He sighed. “Fine.” The car accelerated slightly.

“See? Told you this was fun.”

Aziraphale said nothing, but in truth, he was starting to see why one would just take drives for pleasure. In the past, he had mostly seen the road trips Crowley took him on as more chances to spend time with him, but it was surprisingly pleasant to just sit there and… go somewhere. Even if he’d still have preferred to drive slower, but knowing his demon, he wouldn’t be allowed to.

“Maybe we could put on some music?” he suggested.

Crowley grinned, proving that he too had noticed that Aziraphale was enjoying himself, the pleased, happy smile of someone who’d made his lover happy. “Alright. I just bought these yesterday, so they should be alright –“

And it was indeed Vivaldi’s _Four Seasons_ that started playing instead of Queen, which seemed to be the Bentley’s go-to music, usually.

Aziraphale knew that Crowley mostly listened to classical music when they were together, simply because the angel liked it. Recently though he’d admitted that he’d now and then gone to a concert over the last six thousand years when he’d missed him – “That kid Mozart was really talented, wasn’t he”.

He smiled to himself.

“Good. You’re starting to relax.”

“Of course I’m relaxed, dear. I’m with you.”

And, almost as if it were sentient and could understand what was being spoken, the Bentley’s motor hummed.

To Aziraphale’s utter delight, Crowley blushed. “Both of you should shut up” he muttered, but there was no heat behind it.

“It’s true” Aziraphale told him, because he wanted to see him blush again. He wasn’t disappointed.

They drove on; the guards ignored them due to a convenient miracle Crowley had performed. And anyway, there wasn’t much to guard, was there, they would have said; just computers, and computers only did what the people punching the keys told them, so there was little to no danger there.

Aziraphale smiled to himself once more as he recalled the day of the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t. It had taken him a long time to get to admitting that he and Crowley were on their own side, but he’d got there in the end.

“We should stop soon” he said.

“Why, angel? You already have enough?”

“No” he answered simply, “But I want to hold your hand, and I can’t do that when I’m not supposed to let go of the steering wheel.”

Crowley spluttered. “I – tsk – agh – you can’t just say stuff like that!”

“Why not? You do it all the time.”

“That’s different!”

“How?”

“I told you – I’ve been waiting to do so.”

Aziraphale wanted to ask again, but wasn’t keen on hearing another excuse as to why Crowley wouldn’t answer him, so he didn’t.

Still – eventually, he stopped the car.

They watched the stars from the hood of the Bentley, holding hands.

“I really like doing that one” Crowley told him, pointing at a constellation with his free hand.

“It’s beautiful, dear” Aziraphale replied even though he wasn’t looking at the stars; watching Crowley was enough for now.

Then, before he even knew he’d ask, he quietly added, “How long were you waiting for this?”

At first, he thought he would once more fail to get an answer, but then, Crowley, looking anywhere but at him, quietly replied, “Since some foolish guardian of the Eastern Gate told me they’d given their flaming sword away.”

“Oh Crowley.”

“Yes, yes, well, all over and done with.”

A shy Crowley was something Aziraphale had come to know and appreciate in the months since the world didn’t end. “You were right” he told him softly.

“What about?”

“This – driving is fun.”

Now Crowley looked smug again. “Told you.”

“Yes, dear, you did.”

And he kissed him.


	2. Surprise (Endeavour, Gen, Magical Realism AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a rather weird idea I had for this universe - oh well, still, hope you enjoy this thing!

“Just follow me, I know the area”.

It was the last thing Peter expected to hear, especially spoken in this voice. “What –“

“Follow me, I said” Morse hissed, grabbing his arm, “And don’t look at anyone. What are you doing here anyway?”

“Got a call about an ongoing break-in. Managed to follow the culprit –“

“And so you ran right into – are you _insane_?”

“It’s our duty –“

“You should have called the Guard, and you know it.”

“I didn’t have the time to think of that!”

Morse sighed. “Fine. But now let’s get you out of here.”

And he started to drag Peter through the streets with more strength than he’d believed he possessed. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, feeling rather irritated. Morse had asked for a few days off just yesterday. Family matters, he’d said. And now instead he’d found him in the demon quarter.

The demons _didn’t_ call it the demon quarter, of course. They had their own names, their own language, their own habits.

Peter had met a few in his time, after they had been given rights when he’d been a boy, and had never considered them a danger to society. Still – Morse was right – they could be territorial. He should indeed have called their Guard to help instead of running into their quarter.

“Working” was all Morse said.

“But you took time off –“

“Not from my other duties.”

Peter managed to wrench his arm away and stood still.

Morse sighed. “What now?”

“What are you doing here?”

“You won’t go any further unless I tell you?”

“No.”

They were interrupted by a cheerful voice, “Hey Endeavour, do you know a human is busy glaring at you?”

Morse sighed but then grinned as he looked over Peter’s shoulder. “Imagine that, Tobias – I noticed.”

Then his eyes turned black.

And Peter remembered with startling clarity the old demon custom of them calling people by their last names until they grew familiar with them.

* * *

“That’s Peter Jakes” Morse introduced him. “He’s a friend. Peter, that’s Tobias Jasper, collector of gossip.”

He assumed it was some sort of title until the other demons started to laugh. “You can just call me a journalist, you know.”

Morse shrugged. “Thought I’d be accurate for a change. Anyway, we need to get going.”

And he all but dragged Peter away again. “You got lucky; Tobias is one of the more progressive demons. We’ve been working to get the Council to open up more. We firmly believe in human-demon solidarity, you know.”

“You’re a demon” Peter said because it was the only thing he could think of.

Morse laughed, but it wasn’t one of his usual awkward chuckles – it was an open, happy laugh. “What gave it away?”

“But – you’re – you’re a demon! And you work and live among humans!”

“Yes. No law against it.”

“But – but why?”

“Well – someone has to eventually breach this ridiculous line that’s been drawn between humans and demons, don’t you think? So we – that’s me, Tobias and a few others who feel closer to humans than others – decided that we’d ease everyone into this.”

Peter had no idea what to say.

“Thankfully you all but ran into me. Just give me a description of the burglar; I have to get back to the Guard once I drop you off anyway.”

“The Guard?”

“Special request of the Council’s” he boasted.

“So that’s why you took time off.”

Morse grinned. “I didn’t think you were ready for the truth yet. Have to say though, you’re taking it pretty well.”

On their way out of the quarter, it became rather clear that Morse – or Endeavour, as most of those who recognized him called him – was not only well known to most demons of Oxford, but also well liked. So much for not looking at anyone; they barely spared Peter a glance.

Peter could only stare as the man he’d believed to be a rather misanthropic introvert turned out to be a social butterfly, happily greeting everyone he knew and even consoling a small demon boy who was crying in the streets.

As they watched him scamper off to buy an ice with the few pence Morse had bestowed on him, Peter felt like he’d entered a parallel universe.

“Would you mind terribly if we keep this between us just for now?” Morse asked once they had reached the outskirt of the quarter. “Like I said, we’re still figuring out how to ease people into this.”

“Of course” he immediately agreed. God, he needed a cigarette.

“Anyway, we’ll deal with your burglar, don’t worry” Morse told him happily, then all but skipped away.

Peter immediately went for a smoke.

Really, he reflected as he strolled back to the station, he wasn’t as surprised as he would have been had another one of his colleagues turned out to be a demon. This was Morse, after all.

The question that remind of course was – now what?


	3. Charge (Supernatural, Castiel/Dean Winchester)

“Now? _Now_ you listen to me?”

Dean looked at him and shrugged. “I do eat salads now and then, just to keep fit. This is nothing out of the ordinary.”

“But – but I’ve _never_ seen you eat a salad before!” In fact, he’d despaired from ever getting him to eat proper food.

“Haven’t you?” he asked innocently and Cas understood that he was once more being made fun of.

The last thing he would have expected when he had been assigned the guardian angel of a fire fighter was the task being… as the humans would say, annoying. Granted, his previous guardian angels had all quit at one point, but then, his immediate predecessor had been Zachariah, and he had always been a bit… difficult, so Cas had considered the fault to lie with him rather than with Dean.

“Are you telling me you purposefully eat unhealthy food when I show up?”

“I never said anything like that” he said, proving that, if he had chosen his brother’s career path, he would probably have made as good a lawyer as Sam.

Cas could only stare at him. “But why?”

“I told you” Dean answered. “There is only a small number of you guys. You should be looking after someone who _needs_ guarding.”

“You run into burning buildings on a regular basis” he reminded him.

“Because it’s my job.”

“And my job” he declared with all the dignity he could muster “is looking after you.”

Dean have him one of those grins that of lately were doing strange things to his heart, making it beat much more wildly in his chest than it had any right to. “Well then. Wanna share my salad?”

Cas – _Castiel_, his name was Castiel, but Dean had decided early on that he would call him Cas no matter what – knew that their relationship was somewhat… unusual for a guardian angel and his charge. He really spent much more time with Dean than was necessary, considering he was mostly supposed to help him when he walked into said burning buildings, but he’d come to treasure the hours they had together. Especially if Dean smiled at him like that for the majority of them.

And so, he stayed this time, as well.

* * *

Dean was leaning against the fire truck, panting.

“Dean!” Cas made his way over to him. He would have come sooner, but his superiors had demanded a report about the many hours he lived on earth again. He had known that Dean wasn’t in danger, of course – otherwise he would have been at his side; but still –

“A little girl…” Dean swallowed. “She died, Cas. She died because I couldn’t get to her in time. Where was _her_ guardian angel?”

“I can’t tell you” he said because it was the truth. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”

He looked at him then; his lips trembled; and before Cas could comprehend, he’d collapsed into his arms, sobbing.

He rubbed his back and desperately hoped it was enough.

It seemed to be, for Dean called down.

* * *

“I never thanked you for comforting me two weeks back” Dean told him the next time they met.

He wanted to say that this was just his job, like Dean had that one time, but couldn’t. He was supposed to watch over his charges, not hold them.

He could still feel him in his arms. “I – you’re welcome.”

Dean smiled at him again, so he must have done something right.

For some reason though, this time after they had eaten, he quietly slipped his hand over the table to cover Cas’ and asked, “Stay a while?”

He found himself nodding before he’d even had the time to process the question.

He wasn’t quite sure how this meant they had to watch some form of horrible medical drama on TV while all but being pressed against one another on the sofa, but it made his heart do the fluttering again, so he didn’t mind.

Dean hadn’t let go of his hand yet, either.

Eventually, after the program had ended, he regrettably came to the conclusion that he should probably bid Dean goodbye when he breathed “Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Can I – can I kiss you?”

This went against every rule that had ever been drilled into him, but his heart started pounding even faster, and he found himself answering in the only way he could.

* * *

Later, pressed against Dean in the dark, he made a vow.

Nothing like this was ever supposed to happen between a guardian angel and his charge. But no one on this earth had ever been like Dean Winchester, kind, smart, wonderful Dean, he was sure.

He would do anything he could to keep this, keep him, as long as he could.

Dean muttered something in his sleep and Cas drew him closer.

Yes.

For as long as Dean would have him.


	4. Driver (Supernatural, Dean/Crowley)

“I know you didn’t ask for this.”

Dean couldn’t help it; he laughed. It was the strangest thing Crowley had ever said to him, and that was saying something, considering he’d been at the man’s beck and call for over two years now in order to pay for the debts that had accumulated before he’d learned of Sammy’s drug habit. At least he was clean now, although he had no idea what Dean did for a living.

Really, for a mob boss, Crowley wasn’t too bad. He’d realized early on that, whole it wold have been possible to pressure Dean to do the nastiest things imaginable, there were limits as to what he was actually prepared to do, even for his brother; and so what he did was drive the occasional getaway car, maybe a break-in or two, and well…

He’d sort if become Crowley’s PA, his secretary really, helping him keep the organisation afloat.

Currently, they were going through the finances.

And then Crowley had had to make that weird remark.

“Imagine that, I was aware” he answered.

“What were you going to do with your life anyway?”

Really, what was the matter with the (admittedly hot) bastard today? In all the time they’d spent together, he’d never seemed top care what Dean wanted or thought about him for that matter.

“Don’t know” he shrugged. “Mind, I did eye college for a bit. Maybe something to do with maths. Always was good at maths.”

“Obviously” Crowley said, and Dean realized to his surprise that he was teasing him.

Alright, something was the matter. This was so far from his usual behaviour it almost made him believe in body-snatchers. “How come the sudden interest?” he asked. In the beginning, Crowley had tried to make him call him sir, which naturally had resulted in Dean never doing so.

“I was just curious” he mumbled and concentrated back on the file in front of him.

Alright. Now Dean was –

No, of course he wasn’t concerned. Crowley might have been good-looking, but he was also the bastard who’d blackmailed him into becoming a criminal, and Dean would be damned if he was going to actually start worry about the guy.

“Everything alright?”

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

At first, he thought Crowley would lash out, but then he actually deflated before Dean’s eyes. “I had a fight with both my mother and son” he mumbled.

Dean had been surprised to find, a few months in, that he was the only member of the organization who knew (due to the paperwork) that Crowley even had a son.

“They called me – well, names. Told me that I don’t care for anyone.”

They sort of had a point, but Dean wasn’t going to mention it. “Yeah, well… you care about yourself, so that’s something.”

He was baffled when Crowley not only didn’t get mad, but laughed.

It made his stomach flutter in a sort of way it definitely shouldn’t around a dangerous criminal.

Ugh. Why did the bad guys always have to be hot?

Ah well. Just a bit of a weird day, that was all it was – at least so he told himself; he’d go home and forget about the vulnerability he’d seen for the first time in Crowley’s eyes today and all would be well.

Only that Crowley suddenly invited him out to dinner, and Dean accepted before his brain could send the message that this was a horrible, not-good, terrible idea to his mouth.

And that was how he ended up in a restaurant with prices he would only have been able to afford if he pawned his car; Crowley was clearly a regular customer, since the staff seemed utterly confused at him having company.

Dean thought it prudent not to mention it.

He had already known that Crowley was surprisingly good company when he wasn’t busy being a son of a bitch, and tonight was no exception.

Problem was, that didn’t help against those damn butterflies that seemed to have taken place permanently in his gut quite some time ago in the least.

Dean ended up driving Crowley home, of course; part of his duties included exactly that.

Only this time it felt different.

He was being ridiculous, of course.

And yet…

When they got out of the car (Dean having undertaken the job of kind-of bodyguard as well some months ago, despite the fact that Crowley was the last person in the city who needed to be escorted to their door), his boss was studying him intently.

Dean was about to ask whether he had something on his face when Crowley breathed “Thank God” and dragged him into a kiss.

Dean, if asked at that very moment, would probably have insisted that God could have preciopus little to do with any of this.

But as he kissed back, he couldn’t have cared less. 


	5. Freudian Slip (Lewis, Lewis/Hathaway)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I might just kiss you

Robbie stares at his bagman because there is nothing else he can do.

Because he is clearly hearing things.

Because what he believes to have heard is impossible.

Because James Hathaway – James Hathaway, young, clever, good-looking James Hathaway cannot just have said _I might just kiss you _to him, Robbie Lewis, middle-aged competent but not overwhelmingly smart copper.

Stuff like this doesn’t happen outside of Rosamunde Pilcher novels.

But clearly James has said something because he, too, is staring at Robbie, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

It must be these bloody dreams he’s been having. Dreams that make him want to reach out to James until he looks into his bathroom mirror in the morning and remembers that he’s an old fool lusting after a young man he’s responsible for and that those feelings have to be paternal, they just _have_ to be.

So he clears his throat and says, “sorry, lad, I must have been wool-gathering. What were you saying?”

Thinking that he’s just averted a crisis, he’s surprised by the effect his words have on James. He pales abruptly and stands up. “Sorry sir, I just remembered that I have to go – there’s a thing – with the band –“

“Of course” he says helplessly. Pointing out that it’s close to the on a Wednesday evening and that, therefore, it is highly unlikely that James has a thing with the band would do absolutely no good at the moment, with him so obviously trying to get away from Robbie.

And why shouldn’t he? He’s a fool, an old fool, and right now, his feelings were probably all too easy to read on his face.

Oh God. How James must despise him.

His sergeant all but darts out of the pub and Robbie is left to sigh into his glass.

For a few moments at least, until he decides that they shouldn’t allow this time to foster and grow between them because by God, James can get lost in his head so very easily, and should he come to the conclusion that he never wants to see Robbie again…

It’s not even about the… feelings thing. It’s about Robbie not knowing who he’d be anymore without James in his life.

That’s all he needs – just James in his life. He’ll be content with that.

But first, they need to talk.

And so he grabs his coat – and James’s, since he left it behind – and hurries after him.

He doesn’t have to go far; as a matter of fact, he’s leaning against a wall only a street or so away from the pub, smoking.

Robbie has no idea what to say, so he starts with, “You left your jacket.”

“Thank you very much, sir.” He sounds distant and much too polite, the usual way of showing Robbie he is severely displeased with something, and he wishes he had any idea how to fix this.

“Look lad” he tries, but James interrupts him.

“No! I’m done with “Look, lad”! I know how this sentence ends!” He throws down the cigarette and stomps on it. “It’s invariably going top be something like “Look, lad be reasonable or “Look, lad, you can’t go around saying stuff like that” or “Look, lad, it never even crossed my mind” – and I knew, I knew from the first there was little to no chance of my feelings being reciprocated, but I thought they at least deserved to be acknowledged!”

And he’s lost Robbie. “Sorry, l – James? Hat are you talking about?”

The look he shoots him could almost be called contemptuous until he realizes Robbie has genuinely no idea what he’s talking about. “I – I mean –“ and now his voice is dripping with uncertainty, which is probably a good thing because it causes Robbie to be rather certain of something very, very important.

“I – thanks for this” he snatches his coat out of Robbie’s hand. “See you tomorrow, sir –“

“Oh no” he interrupts him and grabs his arm. “No. I think I’ve finally figured it out, and this is a discussion that needs two people.”

James is shuffling his feet. “I don’t know –“

“Yes, you do know exactly what you mean, you awkward sod. And just for the record, if I would have thought it at all possible that you actually said what you – actually said, the answer would have been _Do it.”_

James needs a second to process this, then he stares at Robbie. “You would have been… amenable?”

“I _would_ be bloody amenable. If you wanted to, that is” Robbie answers. He’s rarely been surer of anything in his entire life.

And so, when James still fails to get up the courage to do what they both want, it’s him who reaches out to his sergeant.

As their lips meets, any insecurity of James disappears likewise.


	6. Conference (Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale)

“Heaven and Hell“ Aziraphale said softly. “They are sure to come after us.”

Crowley, who, after the Apocalypse-that-hadn’t-been-after-all, wanted nothing more than to have a nice drink with his angel at his flat (his flat, he had finally managed to get Aziraphale there, he gloated) didn’t*t even stop his search for his bottle opener. It had to be here somewhere… “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

“My point, dear” (Crowley definitely didn’t blush because demons didn’t blush. Especially not because certain angels had just called them _dear_ for the very first time. Definitely not) “is that we need a plan for when they do.”

“Yeah, well, doesn’t seem to me like there’s much to plan. I mean – they are bound to come after us, like you said, and the entirety of Heaven and Hell against one demon and one angel? Won’t be much of a fight.” Which was why Crowley would rather spend his remaining time with Aziraphale and a nice bottle of –

“But there has to be something we can do. Otherwise, what is this for?” and the angel waved Agnes’ Nutter’s final prophecy in the air. “She must have known something.”

“Yes, and whatever that was, it exploded with her.”

“And then what is that?”

“A burned page from a burned book that clearly wasn’t as accurate as it proclaimed to be since the world didn’t end.”

“Oh, Crowley. You’re a pessimist.”

“I am being realistic, angel. I know Hell. And we both know Heaven. Trust me, I remember those wankers very well. Gabriel especially usually had some nasty ideas on what to do with –“

“Choose your faces wisely, Crowley. This has to mean something.”

“If you say so” he said, distracted by finally having found the bottle opener. “But just so you know, I quite like my face, and yours” (another blush that didn’t happen) isn’t too bad, either, so…”

“Crowley! Would you just listen to me for one minute!”

“I _always_ listen to you!”

He hadn’t meant to say it.

Silence.

Then, quietly, “Really?”

“Yes” he mumbled, fiddling around with the bottle, “You’re kind of hard to ignore.”

If one happened to be a demon with a millennia-old crush, anyway.

“Oh Crowley, I never meant to ignore you either. Not even when you asked for the holy water.”

“You didn’t?” He looked up.

Aziraphale was wringing his hands. “I was just so worried that it was indeed a suicide pill.”

There had been a time when he had actually considered that option, but he didn’t say so. “I just needed insurance, I told you.”

“But still – what if – and then it would have been my fault and worst of all, you wouldn’t have been there anymore”.

Another pause.

Then Aziraphale hastily added, “To tell me it _wasn’t_ a suicide pill, that’s what I –“

“Angel” he interrupted him tiredly, pulling off his glasses. “I think we’ve both said too much for this to just quietly go away again, wouldn’t you say?”

Airaphale didn’t answer.

“Angel” Crowley said, stepping up to him, feeling suddenly bold despite the lack of alcohol in his system, “Listen. Like you said, they’re going to come after us. Now, we can spend our remaining time on earth doing what we have been doing for way too long – ignore this and pretend that we’re not even friends. Or we can be honest for once in our occult –“

“Ethereal” Aziraphale mumbled

“Existences And do what we want.”

Finally, Aziraphale looked at him again and, rather stupidly, said, “You’ve taken off your glasses. You only do that when you’re in the presence of someone –“

“I only do it around you, angel” Crowley interrupted him. “Only ever around you, or when I’m alone.”

They stared at one another. Then, Aziraphale took a tentative step towards him. And another. And another.

It was a good thing he could still move, since Crowley was rooted on the spot.

And then his angel was kissing him and nothing ese mattered. The only thing of importance in the whole goddamn universe was kissing him back and holding him in his arms and never letting go.

When they pulled back, Crowley leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s “Should have done this a long time ago” he whispered.

Aziraphale hummed then gasped, “Holy water!”

What about it?” he asked confused.

“I figured it out! I know what Agnes Nutter meant! We can save each other, we won’t be on Heaven’s or Hell’s hit list anymore – gosh, this is brilliant! Crowley, we can win this!”

“Alright” he said, although he was still rather sure that they couldn’t, “If you say so, angel…” and he pulled him back in despite Aziraphale’s half-hearted protests, “You can tell me all about that. Later.”

And for a long time, they were too preoccupied to worry about either Heaven or Hell.


	7. Hard Hits (Endeavour, Gen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "No, and that's final".

“No, and that’s final“.

Morse predictably reacted to this decision by storming out of his office.

Fred sighed. The lad was a great detective, but stubbornly remained a poor policeman; and so he couldn’t understand that he couldn’t just run in and talk to a suspect in several brutal beatings without evidence and, what was more imprint, without backup. Both Strange and Jakes were busy, and Fred himself had to finish a report.

And he wasn’t about to let Morse walk into another dangerous situation.

At least he thought so – foolishly believed that Morse would listen to him for _once_ – until WPC Trewlove brought him tea. “I’m sorry sir, but do you know where Constable Morse is gone? He stormed off so quickly, I didn’t manage to ask him.”

His blood ran cold. He jumped up and cursed. “He must have gone to talk to Riker after all.”

He should have seen it coming. It was Morse who had found the victim of the last attack – a little girl who hadn’t even made it to the hospital. When Fred had arrived at the scene, there’d been an expression on his bagman’s face he’d never seen before.

“Get everyone you can spare to his house now” he ordered as he hastily left.

* * *

Morse knew what order DI Thursday had given him, and he knew that he shouldn’t go alone. Most of all, he knew that Leonard Riker was a very dangerous man.

But there was more he knew – or rather, _remembered_.

He remembered the little girl’s pale face, smeared with blood, and how her last breaths had left her body as he’d tried to help her; he remembered her mother’s pain and her father’s grief; and he remembered who senseless and pointless the attack had been.

And so he didn’t think. He acted. The sooner he got this man off the streets, the better.

Sadly, he hadn’t considered how Riker would react to being told that he was their main suspect.

Because he did so in exactly the way he would have thought if he had thought about what he was planning to do at all.

* * *

Another kick hit his ribs as he was trying to crawl away. The attack had come swiftly and strangely silently, with Riker raining blow upon blow on Morse, who could offer little to no resistance.

The thought that he hadn’t told anyone where he was and that he very well could die here crossed his mind. But no; he had to believe that DI Thursday would show up sooner or later. Certainly he would put the pieces together; certainly he would come to the rescue, like he always did, Morse only had to live that long…

_Just hold on,_ he repeated to himself, _just hold on. _

As more and more blows came, these words were all he had to cling to.

* * *

“Sir, you can’t just go in there!”

He knew that, but he also knew that Morse needed him, needed him more than possibly ever before.

He looked at Trewlove who had (perhaps wisely, considering the state he was in) insisted on driving him. “I have no choice, Constable” he replied. “Morse is in there.” He drew his gun. You stay and wait for reinforcements.”

And he ran in.

* * *

The pain was only a distant sensation now; Morse idly wondered if some of his ribs were broken (very likely) and whether one of them might have pierced a long (equally probable). But he’d reached the point where things could no longer hurt him, or rather, he had reached a pain level that could no longer be increased by ordinary means; and so he waited, although he had forgotten for what…

A crash. A loud bang.

And then darkness.

* * *

When he came to, he didn’t know what time of day it was. He wouldn’t even have been able to say if it was still the same day.

“Morse?”

“Sir?”

“Good God, Morse”. Thursday sounded like he wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or angry.

“Riker?” He managed to say.

“Dead. He tried to attack me. I had to shoot him.” He didn’t seem to be feeling any remorse on the subject.

“Good.”

“Good – Morse, I specifically told you not to –“

“It was – it was the girl, sir. Natasha Hardy. I couldn’t let her killer go free for even one moment longer.”

A pause. Then, a hand settled on his arm. “Morse, look at me.”

He managed to focus on the DI.

“Now, you got lucky – you’re sore all over, but nothing’s broken. Still, the doctor said you’d need a few days of bedrest, even when you’re released. Now, me and Mrs. Thursday have talked about it, and you’re coming to our place.”

He would have tried to protest but had the feeling it would be of absolutely no avail. “Thank you, sir.”

“Not for that, Morse.” Another squeeze. “never for that.”


	8. Stay (Endeavour, Morse/Joan)

She’s turning to leave, and so should he. She just told him to save the world for her, and it’s all he can do, apparently.

Instead, the words come out of his mouth. “Can you stay?”

She stops. “Morse, I just told you –“

“Yes, you said he gave you a few weeks. Don’t run out into the night. Not now. Stay. Get some rest. And if you want, we can get your stiff together. Tomorrow.” He speaks fast, unsure. Has no idea how to talk to someone who just refused his marriage proposal.

She contemplates his words, then quietly says, “I will.”

He’s more relieved than he can say.

* * *

When he returns to his flat, it’s much later, there’s another bump on his head, and his ears are still ringing.

He expected her to leave, but here she still is, currently making dinner.

“What –“ he begins.

“I figured you’d have nothing at your place, so I went out and got something to eat. And I suppose I should too, for the… you know…” she trails off, then turns around, her eyes widening. “Morse! What happened?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s classified. Really” he adds when he sees her sceptical look. “If I could tell you, I would.”

Her eyes soften. “Sit down. You need to rest.”

“So do you” he reminds her.

“Morse, I’m pregnant, not ill.”

It’s the first time she’s spoken the word out loud.

They fall silent.

She’s a good cook he supposes she learned it from her mother. “We can get your things tomorrow” he finally suggests.

“Oh Morse, you would really –“

“Yes I would.”

She smiles and reaches out to squeeze his hand. “Thank you so much.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

He wonders if she really things all of this is just pity. If she’s been hurt so badly she can’t tell anymore when people love her.

He’s starting to think he knows the feeling.

* * *

Ray doesn’t show up as they pack, for which Morse is grateful. He’s taken a few personal days which Superintendent Bright was only too happy to grant; Joan (“Stop it with Miss Thursday, it’s too late for that”) has called home but so far managed to avoid going there, if only so her mother won’t see the bruise. A few more days and she’ll able to cover it up with makeup, she says.

Meanwhile, she’s staying with Morse, in a parody of what could have been if he was worth it and she’d said yes.

He tells himself not to drown in self-pity. There’s someone he has to take care of.

* * *

The days pass quickly. On his insistence, Joan does rest a little, and on hers, Morse eats more and drinks less than he usually would. They take turns choosing the music during the evenings.

She says she might go see her family at the end of the week but probably (with a laugh) considering what her father did to Ray, won’t tell them where she’s been staying.

He’s glad to hear her laugh again.

He doesn’t mind her staying for as long as she wants, and she falls strangely silent when he tells her.

* * *

She does go to seer her parents, but comes back to him – one final time, as he tells himself. It doesn’t matter. They’re glad she’ll be moving back in, although they don’t know about the baby yet. He supposes they will, in time; there are some things you can’t hide.

“I – I’ve been thinking” she finally says at the end of her telling Morse about the successful visit (apart from everything else, he’ll be glad to see Mrs. Thursday smile again in the mornings). 

“That’s new?” he asks, since he’s learned that she liked him to be wilfully obtuse now and then. He’s learned a lot in the past week.

And especially how much he will miss her when she moves out.

As it turns out, he was wrong about that last bit.

Because she gently takes his hand. “You’ve done an awful lot for me, Endeavour.” For once, he doesn’t correct someone when they use their first name. “And it’s getting harder to think you’re doing all of this out of pity.”

Because he’s not.

“And so I thought – I mean I know I said no but perhaps – no, I definitely should have said yes. And maybe if we – if we see more of each other, you would be – I mean you could perhaps ask again one day –“

There is only one thing he can answer and he hastens to interrupt her. “Joan, will you marry me?”

This time, the answer is different.

This time, he doesn’t have to ask her to stay.

When she draws back from their first kiss, she smiles. “I can’t wait to hear what Mum and Dad have to say.”


	9. Pecan Pie (Supernatural, Dean/Castiel)

“So what do you say?” Dean asked eagerly. He refused to believe that Cas could only taste molecules. There had to be some food that was awesome enough to ensure it tasted good, and that food was, naturally, pecan pie.

The angel carefully considered his question and swallowed. “It’s got a certain… taste to it” he finally said. “Beyond the molecules.”

Dena grinned. “Told you. Can’t go wrong with pie. And the pecans were excellent quality, I made sure of that –“

Cas’ eyes widened and he stared at the pie with aw. “You made this?”

“Of course I made this. Store bought is always a risk. I couldn’t take that.”

“Dean” he said earnestly, “This really is excellent.”

“Of course it is. I made it, after all.”

But Cas was till staring at the pie.

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, it’s just pie. It’s not even difficult to make. I can cook, you know.”

“I am very aware of that” he said slowly, “I just didn’t know you also baked.”

“Not that different, right? In the end, it’s basically chemistry. You mix the right stuff, and voilà” Dean shrugged. “Had to get creative when we were growing up, feeding Sammy.”

Cas’ eyes softened and he avoided his gaze as he recalled those times when Dad had gone away for days on end and they had slowly been growing hungrier and hungrier…

And suddenly, Cas’ hand was atop of his. “I am sure you did the best you could” he said quietly. “And since you grew very good at cooking, Sam must have profited in some way.”

He stared at their hands and swallowed. Foe awhile now, he’d been very aware of that thing between him and Cas, but despite what Sammy had thought was the problem and the awkward “I will always love you no matter what” conversation he had forced upon Dean last week it wasn’t the male thing.

It was that this was Cas. This was Cas, and if Dean blew it – as he most likely would, if he was being honest with himself – then Cas wouldn’t be there to catch him, as he had done so often in the past because Cas would be gone and it would be his fault.

But then, on the other hand…

On the other hand, this could be good. Great, even. Potentially the best thing to ever happen to Dean in his life. And his life hadn’t exactly been stock full of good things.

He took a deep breath and then intertwined their fingers.

When he looked back up at Cas, the angel was staring at him.

“This is not a one-way street, right?” he asked. “I mean I’d hate to bark up the wrong tree here.”

Cas frowned. “What do streets have to do –“

“I – “he hastily interrupted him. “Not important. Look, Cas, what I’m trying to say is – well – I kind of like you – a lot.”

“I like you too, Dean. A lot.”

“Not what I meant. I mean – yes that is what I meant but like – I like you a lot a lot in a very – well not in an unfriendly manner but in a not really friends manner, but… more.”

Cas was frowning as he tried to understand what Dean was telling him. Then slowly he asked “Do you mean to tell me you care about me like a lover?”

“Yes” he breathed.

“But we’re not lovers.”

Dean’s heart sank. Of course. What would an angel of the Lord want to do with him anyway –

He wanted to draw his hand back, but to his surprise, it was grasped even tighter as Cas said, “You wish to be my lover?”

“Yes” he repeated.

“That’s good, then.”

Dean waited, but nothing else happened. Just a That’s good, then. As if there was nothing more to it.

Afar a moment Cass said, “I understand there is something about kissing and other… activities when –“

Dean blushed fiercely at the thought of other _activities_. “Yes, there usually is, but would you like that?” he asked. “Would you really enjoy that? With me?”

“I think (I would very much. I have been thinking about it for a long time.”

“A long –“ Dean closed his eyes and groaned. “Cas, how much time did we waste?”

“That’s not important. We’re here now.”

Huh. Who would have thought his angel could be a smooth talker when he wanted to be?

“Alright. Just making sure. You absolutely, one hundred percent, want me to kiss you.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

And so Dean did – as it turned out, Cas was quite talented and enthusiastic.

Sam found them later that afternoon making out on the sofa in the Dean cave, but they wouldn’t know it until later, since he quietly snuck out again with a smile on his face.


	10. Labour Of Love (Supernatural, Drowley)

“Crowley!“

While it wasn’t unusual for the demon to just randomly show up and hang around the bunker (much to Sammy’s annoyance: Dean had grown used to it a long time ago), him dragging Dean away from a hunt was rather strange.

And it had seemed such an open-and-shut case, too; which was why Dean had gone in alone. Just some ghost haunting a town. Nothing a shovel and a firelighter wouldn’t fix.

But no, instead here he was, being grabbed and shoved around by the former (he still thought he’d really meant to abdicate, Sam considered the reason to be some form of rebellion) kind of Hell.

“Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me” he hissed, dragging him further and further away.

“Crowley! I am doing my job –“

“Which will get you killed if we don’t move!”

Alright. That was it. He managed to stand still.

“Dean!” Now Crowley sounded almost – desperate? As he tried dragging him even farer away, but he held firm.

“Crowley. What. Is. Going. On!?”

Crowley looked ta him and sighed. “Alright. So here’s the deal.”

“I never said anything about a –“

“You let me buy you a drink two towns over and I try and explain.”

“How about you don’t try, but just –“

But Crowley had already snapped his fingers and he were standing in front of a bar that Dean assumed was indeed two towns over from where he needed to be. “Crowley –“

“Craig” he mumbled, I need Craig”. And then he swept past Dean and into the bar. This was weird behaviour even for him, so he followed immediately. Couldn’t have a demon go on a rampage because he was feeling under the weather, even if that demon was Crowley and he truest him these days, more or less.

Sam and Cas were of a slightly different opinion, being somewhat more wary of him, but Dean believed that with time that would change as well.

After all, they had known each other for a decade at this point.

“So” he said when they were finally sitting down with their drinks in front of them (one upside of being kind of friends with Crowley was that he got to drink the good stuff these days) “are you going to tell me what this is about, now?”

Crowley looked… uncomfortable. Dena was reminded of their “Summer of love” as Sam kept referring to it, but shoved the thought away. That was complicated and if he’d learned anything, complicated and Crowley were not a good mix.

“What is it?” he added.

“Well… I would have thought that you’d have figured out the pattern by now” he drawled.

“What do you mean, pattern? There is no pattern. Woman and men, children and adults, even a dog got mauled by the ghost. Nothing to see here but deal with it, which is what I was about to do when you stopped me –“

“Because I didn’t want _you_ to get mauled, ever consider that?”

He genuinely hadn’t. While it was somewhat logical that Crowley cared for them – _for you_, his traitorous brain whispered – it was a whole utter concept to come to terms with the reality of that.

“I am used to ghosts coming after me, and anyway, what makes you think it’d target me specifically when I go there…”

Alright, now Crowley almost looked guilty, and that was just plain weird. “The pattern” was all he said, “IT’s not the victims. It’s their… well, it’s their significant others. Parents. Owner, in one case.”

“Oh?” Dean frowned and went through the interviews he had conducted. Come to think of it, there had indeed been a trait they shared… “Well, I mean, most of them were kinda douchy, but they just lost someone close to them –“

“Not someone close to them”. Crowley wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Dean knew from experience that meant trouble. “They lost someone they loved. Maybe the _only one_ they loved.”

“So you are saying that the ghosts goes after people who some asshole happens to…” Dean trailed off as the reason Crowley had showed up and whisked him away hit him.

Oh.

Summer of Love, indeed.

“Yes. Well. Now you know. I’ll take care of the ghost, don’t worry –“

And as Crowley finished his drink, Dean knew that he had to make a choice.

And really, it wasn’t much of a choice, was it? After all, who would ever think of doing something like that with a demon, it was completely bonkers –

So naturally, he grabbed Crowley’s arm to stop him from leaving. “Oh no mister. We’re dealing with this together.”

“You mean the ghost?” he asked, obviously clueless.

Dean sighed. “The ghost and everything else” he said very pointedly, then pressed a quick kiss against Crowley’s lips. “And now come on!”

The suddenly rather dazed-looking demon complied.


	11. Heat (Endeavour, Morse/Jakes ABO)

“It’s not always like this“.

Peter can only stare at Morse, mostly because these are the first words he’s bestowed on him in days that weren’t a request like _Please_ or _Faster_ or _God, Peter. _

He’s not quite sure what is not always like this, but since he seems to be waiting for a reply… “What? Your heat? Is it… less intense normally?”

But Morse is shaking his head, accepting the cup of tea he’s brought him. Really, they are clearly nearing the end of his heat – Peter could leave; Morse is sure to be able to handle the rest on his own – but he feels incredibly reluctant to. He tells himself it’s because of his alpha instincts and his unwillingness to leave an omega in heat, but deep down he knows better, knows this because this is _Morse_ and he’ll never have this, never have him again, but that’s something he’ll deal with later.

It was such a honest, simple request when Morse first put it to him, explaining that the agency he usually used at a time like this didn’t have enough alphas to supply all omegas and that he was unwilling to pick up a stranger (_again_, he actually said again, and Peter had to keep himself from growling because a stranger had touched someone who was… he never finished the thought. It was better by all means) and since he, Peter Jakes, was an alpha he trusted…

And so he’d been helping him out, the last few days. As far as heats went, it wasn’t a bad one – he’d even still been able to go to work, making sure that Morse was provided with food and enough blankets, of course, even if he’d gotten a few comments from colleagues who’d put together that he was helping an omega through their heat, but thankfully not which omega.

“No; it’s just… they don’t usually make me tea. Or food.”

“But the agency…”

“You have to pay extra for that” Morse shrugs. “And I’m still stuck with Dad’s bills.”

“But… you must be exhausted at the end of it then, what with the heat and getting your own meals and stuff…” he trails off because he remembers suddenly rather sharply that Morse tends to indeed get back from his heat leave a little shaken and with dark circles under his eyes.

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it” he says, cradling the cup as if it is something precious just because Peter brought it to him.

“Morse” he sighs, “I know you said _not_ _always_, but did you actually mean _never_?”

Morse looking away is answer enough.

“Seriously? No alpha has ever taken proper care of you?” Whether there are deeper feelings involved or not (and at the moment it’s becoming more and more difficult to pretend there are not, but again, he can deal with this later) Peter has always prided himself on looking after whatever omega trusted him to do so while in heat. It’s just what alphas are supposed to do – out of obligation; out of honour; out of –

He swallows as the feeling that usually sweeps through him when he looks at Morse for too long takes hold of him once again.

“Peter?”

Too later he realizes he’s given into the urge of running his fingers through his curls. He swallowed. “I – it’s just common courtesy. That’s what it is”.

“Of course” Morse replies, but Peter doesn’t miss a flash of something in his eyes, something that might be desire and might be pain and, good God, could it be they’re actually on the same page?

“Usually” he says quietly, and Morse doesn’t reply.

He reaches out and carefully takes his hand.

Morse stiffens in surprise. Then, very deliberately, Peter raises their linked hand and kisses the back of Morse’s.

“Peter?”

“Endeavour” he says, looking right into his eyes.

Morse swallows; he’s put on fresh boxers but no shirt, and looks young and vulnerable sitting on his bed. “I – after – would you stay on? For a while?”

Peter thinks that _I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me _might be a bit too much, especially at a time like this.

Later. When they’re… more. He can tell him then. When the dust has settled and they know if they’re in for the long haul (he has no way of knowing that he’ll tell him six months later, and that two years after that, there’ll be mating marks on their necks and a kid on the way, with Morse complaining at having to take time off but secretly delighted that he can reorganise his LP collection in their little house).

“Do you always ask them to stay around?” he asks instead with a soft smile, mirrored by the ones on Morse’s face.

“No, Peter. Only you.”


	12. The Bond (Lewis, Lewis/Hathaway)

The lad had been quiet lately. By that, Robbie meant even more so than usual. Ever since he’d told him he should find a partner – should perhaps be actively looking for that glowing aura that made it obvious to people that they were soulmates.

He remembered that concert where he’d met Val. He’d looked into her eyes and that had been that. Over the years, it had become a fond memory, rather than bring fresh pain.

Still – thinking of his wife wouldn’t help solve the problem of what was wrong with James. He’d tried quizzing Laura, but she’d simply given him that pitying stare of hers she used when he was being obtuse, so he’d decided to drag the lad out for a pint after week, something he’d become strangely reluctant to do lately. Maybe he was going through a cleanse or something.

They sat in silence for a while but eventually James burst out with, “What if I don’t see it?”

“Sorry, what?” he blinked.

“What if I don’t see it – what if I never see it? The aura. The glow. Whatever. Most people my age have already met their soulmate.”

“Doesn’t mean you should stop looking” he hinted.

“What if I don’t want to find them?”

The concept had never occurred to Robbie. People wanted to find their soulmates, so they did – that was how it worked. One was supposed to want to share one’s life with someone else. One was supposed top be happy and live happily ever after. That was how things _were_. You couldn’t just… “But why?”

James wasn’t looking at him. “What if I already love someone else? Someone who’s not my soulmate?”

Strangely enough, despite having told him to find a partner, the thought was unpleasant to Robbie. But he had a responsibility here, so he pressed on. “Well, not all soulmate bonds work out. Morse stayed on his own. But I don’t think he was very happy.”

As a matter of facts he would have been ready to bet that most of the time his old governor had been downright miserable, which was why he’d dragged him home for dinner quite a few times. “And this… person” he carefully worded his next sentence, “You are sure they’re not your soulmate, lad?”

“Yes. They have – they had one already. Na done only ever gets one, or so they say.”

Yes, so they say. And yet – there were quite a few people who found someone else after they lost their soulmate, mostly those suffering the same fate.

Robbie himself had never been tempted to do so. Well, perhaps once or twice. Later at night when he was thinking of –

But that wasn’t the point because those thoughts were wrong. “But your soulmate is perfect for you” he argued. “Everyone knows that. Val and me were a match made in Heaven.”

“If it’s so perfect why do some bonds not work out then, he challenged him and there was nothing Robbie could say to that, as James had known he wouldn’t.

“I can’t tell you” he finally said.

He broke the silence that settled between them with “Tell us about them, then.”

“What?”

“The one you like. Tell me about them.”

A strange mixture of pain and longing crossed James’ face for a moment, then he apparently decided to grab the bull by the horns and started, “They are… not someone I’m supposed to like.”

He’d probably been right in being careful with the pronouns, then. “I see.”

“No you don’t! They’re – they’re very smart but tend to hide it. And funny. And kind” he was blushing furiously now, “Even to me.”

While Robbie didn’t like that _even_, he couldn’t deny that the lad had it bad. He was practically glowing. He idly wondered where he’d met them. And what kindness they had bestowed on him. “And how did they lose their soulmate? An accident?” At least it was likely, since James was only in his thirties…

“Yes, sir. Hit-and-run”. The familiarity of answering Robbie’s question had clearly caused him to divulge more information than he wanted. “I – I mean –“ he stammered while Robbie was still putting the pieces together.

And then everything came crushing down and made sense even though it made actually no sense at all. “Did you just say a hit and run?”

But he wasn’t looking at him. “O – I misspoke, sir. Forgive me.”

But Robbie was thinking fast, and was considering his options, and then, for the first time in a long time, he decided to be restless. “Not here. Too many prying eyes and ears. Meet me back at mine? We have to talk.”

As he got up, he casually brushed the back of James’ hand.

His eyes were wide but he bid him goodbye with the widest smile Robbie had ever seen on him.


	13. Routine (Endeavour, Joan/Morse)

She murmurs something against his throat. At first, he thinks she may be talking in her sleep – ever since she reached the more advanced stage of pregnancy, Joan’s tired out easily – but he still asks, “Yes?”

She raises her head, having gotten into the habit of dozing against him while he reads at night. It gives her comfort and him the opportunity to hold something other than a bottle, which he hasn’t done in months, actually, now that he thinks about it. “I never knew it could be this way” she finally repeats.

“What?” he asks, feeling unsure. Letting his gaze wander across their small living room, he fails to understand how this scene is in any way different from hundreds she must have witnessed at her parents – at Fred’s and Win’s, they refuse to have him call them by any other name now – home. If anything, when they exchanged their vows he was ready to bet that he’d be the one to have to get used to it all – to have someone to come home to, someone who _cares_ whether he comes home or not, and in what state.

“I – I don’t know – I guessed I always imagined…” she trails off and for one horrible moment he is certain that this will all end with her declaring that marrying him was the worst mistake she ever made, but instead she continues, “I thought I could never be content or happy like this. But I am.”

He relaxes and puts his arm around her again. Morse imagines she must have gone back to sleep but then she suddenly, abruptly, asks, “Are you, though?”

He blinks, having already got lost in Brooke’s well-known verses again. “Yes” he says. It’s all he can say because it’s true.

“It’s just… today I didn’t even manage to cook something, and look at the state of this place…”

He can’t for the life of him recall when any of his places ever looked as clean as their house does at the moment. “So I slipped out again to get us something to ear.”

“But you shouldn’t have to. You’re tried from work.”

“With all due respect, you’re the one falling asleep ion me, love.”

She playfully boxes his side. “I am sleeping for two here, mister.“

“I know.” He pauses then says, “Joan, you’ve already given me more than I could ever have hoped for.”

After a few moments, she starts to sniffle, and naturally, his response is panic. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to say the wrong –“

“You said just the right thing, you –“ and she kisses him.

He supposes the talk went well, after all.

* * *

Everything alright at him, lad?” DI – _Fred_ asks the next day when they’re having their sandwiches in the pub, Joan having made it quite clear early on that she wouldn’t tolerate him just having a beer and implementing Win’s schedule.

He knows he’s asking as much for his daughter as for Morse himself, so he responds with, “Yes. Joan’s just getting a bit emotional, that’s all.”

“That happens” he immediately agrees. “You’ll get used to it. Won’t even notice when the next little one arrives.”

Until now, he hasn’t even taken into consideration that Joan might want more children, since he’s not entirely convinced he’ll be a good enough father for their first.

* * *

He broaches the subject eventually, during one of their peaceful evenings with Joan once more cuddled up against it. “Do you want more than one?”

She sits up and looks at him. “You mean kids?”

He nods.

“Well, me and Sammy were always rather close, so I don’t think I’d want an only child. What about you?”

“I’m worried enough about how I’ll handle this one” he tells her, honestly.

“You didn’t run. That’s a start”.

“But that’s not all there’s required. What if I –“

“Hush, now”. She kisses him, having found out early on that’s it one of the few reliable ways to shut him up. “You’ll be a bit scared, and nervous, and of course you’ll screw up a little, especially in the beginning, like every new parent. And then you’ll get the hang of it.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“That’s what you’ve got me for, isn’t it?”

* * *

His first thought is _I wasn’t prepared for this._

His second, when their boy opens his eyes and looks at him for the very first time, is_, I am blessed._

He kisses his forehead. “Hello. I’m your father.”

Joan, a bit loopy an tired from the pain she went through and a lack of sleep, giggles. “I don’t think we need formal introductions, Endeavour.”

She’s refused to call him Morse for quite some time now. He’s growing used to it.

“One can never be too careful.”

“If you say so. Now, come here with our little man.”

And that’s how Win and Fred find them a few minutes later, cuddled together in the hospital bed.


	14. Trial Period (Supernatural, Dean/Castiel)

Dean opened his mouth and spoke the words Cas had been helplessly praying and hoping and wishing he never would say out loud, the words for fear of which he’d given his husband well over a month before contacting him. “I can’t come back.”

Cas looked down at the tablecloth in Benny’s café (he’d known from the first that their meeting spot was not a sign in his favour; Benny had always been loyal to Dean) and swallowed. “I –“

“It’s – it’s not that I don’t love you, because I do” Dean said, rubbing his face. He looked tired ad had lost weight. “God, I do so much that it hurts. But you…”

“It was a moment of madness” he tried.

“Of course. Isn’t it always” he spat bitterly, and Cas flinched.

“I…” he stopped talking when he realized he had absolutely no idea what to say. In truith, he still didn’t understand what had made him cheat on his husband of three years, and so near their tenth anniversary of their very first date to boots.

“It’s bad enough that you did it” Dean said quietly, “But that I had to catch you in our own bed…”

That, too. Another betrayal. He woke up at night with the memory of Dean’s eyes seared into his mind. “I – there’s nothing I can say to make it better” he replied “But I want you to know that –“

A pie for Dean was pit forcefully down in front of him, Benny glaring at Cas all the while.

Dean sighed. “We talked about this.”

“Just checking out to make sure everything’s alright, brother” Benny said, still glaring at Cas.

Their friends had naturally taken Dean’s side. Crowley had surprised Cas most of all – one would think that a business man who cheated and lied and embellished the truth all the time just to get more money would be more understanding of sin; but no, betraying Dean was apparently a line not to be crossed, if how he’d ignored his texts and e-mails was anything to go by.

“Yeah, well, everything’s fine here; go back to your customers.” There was no heat behind Dean’s words, however, and Benny squeezed his shoulder as he moved away from them.

Not that it made any difference. Elizabeth, Benny’s niece, simply took his place of standing at the counter and tying to kill Cas with her eyes.

“I – all these years Cas, you knew, you knew someone cheating on me was my worst nightmare after we found out about Dad’s second family and you went ahead and did it anyway.”

“I know.” And he had known, had regretted it even in that moment, but they had both been so busy lately, and he’d missed his husband, and Uriel had ben there and…

No excuse was good enough, as he well knew, because he had searched for one for a very long time. “I’ll always regret it” he finally said. “I know you don’t believe me because you have no reason you. I betrayed you, just like that. But know that I’ll never forgive myself, either.”

Dean hadn’t even touched his pie. He nodded. “Good. Now you got this off your chest – gonna talk to Sammy.”

About the divorce. He didn’t have to say the words.

Cas forced himself to look at him because he had suddenly come to the realization that it would be one of the last times he got to look at his husband, the man he’d sworn to love until the very end and who he’d cheated on instead.

Dean got up. “See you around, Cas.”

They both knew it was just a figure of speech.

As soon as Dean had left, Benny came over and stared at the pie. Then, he told Cas, “Partner, I don’t care what happens, but you’re no longer welcome here.”

There was nothing he could say to that.

* * *

He waited. He waited and waited and waiter – for a call from Sam or a letter from Dean or just the divorce paper in the mail.

They didn’t come.

After two more months, he started to worry. Not because he wanted the divorce, but because what if something had happened to Dean and no one had called him because he didn’t deserve him?

It was on another evening of TV and takeout that his door bell rang out.

Ever since Dean had marched out, no one ever came to see him anymore except for the pizza delivery guy.

He opened the door and found…

“Dean?”

“Alright, so I said I couldn’t come back. And I still can’t. Not right now. But” he hesitated. “So I was wondering if we could perhaps start out as friends again? And see what happens? I am not making any promises.”

Who cared about that when it seemed that he’d been given another chance against all odds.

“I don’t need any” he said quietly as he stepped aside to let him in.


	15. Explanation (Supernatural, Dean/Crowley)

Dean leaned back on the sofa and took a sip of his beer. “Now, that is what I’m talking about.”

Crowley wasn’t exactly sure what it was that was… that.

But then, he wasn’t sure of many things lately.

Mostly because, against his inclinations steering him firmly away from any romantic entanglements, his dalliance with a brilliant and very handsome English teacher had turned into a relationship without him even being able to say _how_.

Normally, he kept his affairs short and to the point, so really, he should probably have known something was up when Dean dragged him to an outing with his friends.

Still, the words, “Hey everyone, this is Crowley, the new boyfriend” had come as a bit of a shock and had left him trying to understand how Dean could have misconstrued their relationship.

Granted, they had had quite a few dinners together, and Dean had more than once spent the weekend, and Crowley had made a habit of texting him when meetings got too boring…

It was then that he’d realized that Dean maybe sort of had had a point and that perhaps he should go and disabuse him of this silly notion.

And then he had gone ahead and… done the opposite of that. But it would just have been impolite to tell Dean they weren’t dating in front of his friends and family, right? Just like it would have been impolite to correct his brother when he’d dropped by the other day because Dean had apparently mentioned he’d been having problems with a client and the lawyer had decided his brother’s partner needed help.

And so here he was, for some reason participating in what Dean called “Binge watching Doctor Sexy”, if you asked Crowley the inanest program on the planet.

But Dean liked it, and when Dean liked something his eyes lit up and he became relaxed and cuddly when he was sitting on the sofa, and that was altogether too tempting to resist.

“So how are things with Carter?” he asked at one point.

“Your brother handled it,”

“Told you Sammy’s a good lawyer.”

Alright. Now. What a great opening. He could tell him that he should please refrain from mentioning him to Sam, and he that they were not dating obviously…

Instead he ran his fingers through Dean’s har because he knew the teacher liked it.

What the hell was wrong with him?

“Thank you for this” he suddenly said, kissing his neck while he did, making it quite difficult to answer. “I know that’s not your cup of tea.,”

“I don’t sound like that” he says indignantly when he registers Dean’s rather pompous attempt at a British accent.

“Yes you do your Highness and I like it” Dean’s grin was boyish and happy, and that was all Crowley wanted and needed at the moment. “When’s Gavin coming?” he asked. “You said he’d introduce us to his new girlfriend, right=”

That, too. Soon after… whatever they have began, Dewa accidently ran into Gavin when he came to see Crowley, and they’ve been friends ever since.

“Next week. He assures me Fiona is the most charming young woman the world has ever seen.”

“Between her, Sarah, Jo and Eileen, things are going to get interesting then” Dean mused. “Will have to do a showdown hunger-game-style.”

“I do know that you read those books in order to relate to your students, but really?”

Dean grinned at him. “I know, I know, you’d have done away with everyone and ten minutes and walked out of that arena.”

“Exactly.”

“And come back to your husband”.

Crowley took a deep breath. Now, this was going to far. Just a few little words should set Dean right…

**Three years later**

“Now, now, we don’t want to wake up Father, do we.”

Crowley entered the kitchen to find Dean hushing Emma. “You know I never sleep later than ten at the weekends anyway.”

He grinned. “I thought you might be tired after last night.””

“Oh darling” he said, swooping down to kiss their daughter, then nuzzling his husband’s neck, “You know I never tire of you.”

“Good answer. Now take care of the little princess while I do breakfast, right?”

He did so, wondering how this had happened. Granted, at the time the explanation Dean had bestowed on him while he’d been trying to break things off had seemed very reasonable, and really, why shouldn’t they keep dating after all? It wasn’t like Crowley’s… well, any kind of relationship he’d ever had had ever worked out.

So how they had ended up with Emma and being married… well…

“Your after can be very persuasive” he told her.

“Which one?” Dean asked form the stove.

“Both of us, I dare say.”

Dean grinned at him.

All was well.


	16. Magpie (Supernatural, Dean/Castiel)

“Alright“ Dean giggled – _giggled_.

Cas wasn’t supposed to giggle at home. Children weren’t supposed to giggle, that was what Father Damien said. And Mother had told them to always listen to what Father Damien said and be good children and follow his advice.

But Dean from the house at the end of the street, who’d just moved in with his family a year ago, was very insistent and so very nice, and so Cas followed him.

They were the same age – eight, although Cas was three months older, which Dean for some reason found hilarious – and already the best of friends, although he doubted Mother would have liked to know. So he’d kept it a secret. He’d thought Dean might be angry about it, but instead he’d decided it was a big adventure for the two of them. Maybe, he’d said, they’d let his brother know eventually, but Sammy was still rather small, so for now, it was just their secret, and Cas liked the sound of that.

“So this is the place. Listen. No, _really listen_.”

Cas – his family called him Castiel, but Dean had decided that he looked like a _Cas_ straightaway, so Cas it was when it was just the two of them – listened. But he didn’t understand what Dean meant. “What –“

“The magpie!” He grasped his arm, though not hard enough to hurt. “The magpie, Cas!”

Now he could hear it. It was nice.

“It’s not a normal magpie. It‘s a magical magpie. Mr. Singer said so”.

Mother had said that Mr. Singer was the town drunk and that they shouldn’t go near him, but Dean and his brother played at his yard on a regular basis, so Cas supposed he must be alright. “Magical?”

“Yes. Means you listen to it, and you make a quite wish, and then things happen. But it has got be a _nice_ wish, and you can’t tell anyone.”

And Cas wished that he and Dean would always be friends and didn’t tell Dean.

* * *

It had been quite a while since he’d last been here, but Cas still found himself in the park where he and Dean had first heard the magpie sing. At sixteen years old, he wasn’t supposed to cry, and yet there were tears stinging his eyes.

Mother had said that they were going to send him to boarding school, and there had been little doubt that this was at least in part inspired by her wish to get her away from “that boy” who she considered a bad influence.

Dean wasn’t a bad influence. Dean was his best friend and the one who made life bearable to Cas.

And so he had stormed off to the park and the magical magpie in some attempt of… he didn’t even know what.

He knew when he made the wish that he shouldn’t. But Dean had been his best friend for so long, and now he meant so much more to Cas, more than he could ever hope to convey...

Or maybe not. “Cas? What’re you doing here, man?”

He opened his eyes. “Hello, Dean.”

He was frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Mother is going to send me away.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “That boarding school she’d been talking about?”

He nodded miserably.

Dean swallowed, the bravely said, “Cas, man, we’re gonna get through that. Just two years and you can do whatever you want. We can go to college together. Be roommates.”

“But Dean” he said even though he’d never know where he’d got the courage, “What if I want to be something else?”

“Like what?”

“Like boyfriends.”

The silence was deafening, but before he could say something else, Dean was kissing him and the future didn’t look so bleak anymore.

**Many years later**

“Daddy!” their little girl squealed.

The look on Dean’s face was the one Cas had sworn he’d put there every day for the rest of their lives on the day he had married him, and so far he’d been successful.

“Listen, now” he told their daughter very solemnly. “Do you hear the bird? That’s Uncle Bobby’s magical magpie. If you are really quiet, and you make a wish, and you keep it to yourself, it’s gonna come true.,”

“Really, Daddy.”

“Yeah” he said, glancing at Cas, “My wishes always came true.”

He gently smiled at him. The years might be beginning to show in a few crow’s feet around his eyes, but Dean was still as beautiful as he had been when they were boys.

While Emma was busy listening to the magpie, Dean came over and pulled him in his arms. “Any wishes, Cas?”

And he looked at him, looked at him like he’d looked at him since he was eight years old, if he was being honest, and quietly said, “No. Not when I’m with you.”


	17. Decision

There is just something about her.

That’s what Richard Poole would say if he was forced to describe the feelings that well up in his breast whenever he contemplates his sergeant for too long. It‘s the safest thing to say because it can mean so many things.

And he’s desperate for it not to mean that one thing. That one thing he’s carefully avoided ever since a disappointment in college.

And so he’d shrug and say there’s just something about her, something that reassures people and at the same time makes them curious and look at her because – well – there is, isn’t there.

She’s very beautiful for one thing.

Not that he’ll ever tell her that.

* * *

Oh, she’ll say if someone asks her how she tolerates her boss, there’s just something about him. He’s very clever, really, and once you get past all the barriers he’s built up, he can even be somewhat charming.

She knows that’s not the whole truth, of course. How could it be?

Just like she knows that if she ever dare broach the topic, all she’d get would be a lecture about fraternization and how they can’t, when she has decided quite some time ago that they not only can, but _should_.

And so they keep dancing around one another.

* * *

It’s a normal evening at La Kaz. They made him go with them to celebrate another closed case, and by now he only ever protests out of habit anyway. He actually likes spending time with his time… especially Camille, although he’ll never openly say so.

Even though there are some things he has to work through.

He’s got a job offer. DCI at the Met. A year ago, it would have been a dream come true.

Now he’s not so sure.

On the other hand…

This situation – yes, he might be eyeing himself now, but it can only lead to heartbreak in the long run. It only ever does, for him.

A hand on his. A gently squeeze. “Richard? Is everything alright=”

He looks into her beautiful eyes and swallows. “Yes. I – there’s – I could become a DCI in London. Have to tell them until the end of the month.”

If he wasn’t sitting across from her, if he didn’t see the open pain in her eyes himself, he wouldn’t believe it.

She draws her hand back. “And? What are you going to do?”

“I – I don’t know yet” he admits. Her eyes widen in surprise.

“You don’t?”

“No. You see I’ve grown very fond of – of Saint Marie” he says, perhaps somewhat lamely, “And maybe if more options open up around here…”

He’s groaning at himself. What is she supposed to do with –

“Options? What options?”

“I – I mean that – well” he stammers.

* * *

A part of her knowns she should probably have interrupted him already, but a flustered Richard is such a cute Richard – she can’t help but enjoy the show, just for a bit longer.

But her heart is soaring.

She’s come to read Richard quite well, and finally, _finally_ he’s saying what she wants to hear, even if probably no one but herself can understand.

She leans in and stops his attempt at communication. “How about I come round your place later tonight and we… discuss the options” she asks quietly.

He falls silent and looks at her a bit like a scared rabbit might look at a snake, but nods.

**Six months later**

In the end, he simply told them he’d very much like to stay where he was.

Where he is.

As a matter of fact, given his current position, he’d raise no objection to the prospect of never moving again.

But then Camille raises her head from his chest and declares she’s hungry, so off the go.

* * *

“Oh, look at that! And I thought newlyweds weren’t supposed to leave their house for at least a week” Dwayne grins at them.

“Yeah, well, newlyweds still need to eat like normal people” Camille tells him.

“Oh, I am certain you’ve had more than enough _snacks.._.”

Richard feels himself blush furiously even as Camille laughs.

Thankfully Catherine has already spotted them and comes rushing over with tea. “Camille! Richard!” She kissed both of them on the cheek. By now, he’s grown rather used to the attentions she bestows on her loved ones. “You look well.”

He highly doubts the few days they kept to themselves could have made much difference in their appearance, but then, Camille always looks good, so he supposes it’s true.

“And?” Camille asks him, nestling against him while they wait for their meal (there would have been a time when he would have subjected to such an open display of affection, but he’s long past that) “Andy regrets?”

“No” he says quietly “There’s just something about Saint Marie that made me want to stay.”

Her kiss is answer enough.


	18. Secret (Endeavour, Morse/Jakes)

“Can’t talk about it” Jakes says. “It’s a secret.”

And that should be that, only Jim opens his mouth and a sentence comes out.

It’s probably the most inane thing he could say under the circumstances especially because he has a pretty good idea of what is going on, so naturally Jim says it anyway.

“Secrets? I love secrets.”

Jakes is staring at him, the cigarette he just fished out of his pocket dangling unlit between his fingers. And who can blame him. His entire posture screams _you didn’t really joust say that, did you._

But… well… things at the station have been… quieter, ever since this thing that Jim isn’t supposed to know about began. Comfortable, even.

And if Jakes and Morse dont’t want anyone to know maybe they shouldn’t – maybe they shouldn’t make out more passionately then Jim has ever seen either kiss a girl in the break room, not even when it’s night and they think no one is around.

“I just meant – if you want to talk – I – I’m here” he says lamely.

Jakes takes a deep breath. “You know?”

It’s neither an accusation nor much of a question, really. It’s pretty clear he’s figured it out.

So Jim nods.

“We had a fight” Jakes says then, sounding rather subdued. “He was – he got rather drunk and came home later and – we had a fight” he repeats.

Jim should have known that Morse’s… habit was eventually going to cause problems between them. “He alright?”

“Yes, just a bloody fool” Jakes mutters.

Jim tries to imagine that he’s talking to one of his buddies after they had a fight with their bird and suggests, “Maybe you should talk to him.”

“Yeah, right, because the idiot is going to understand my point.”

“All I am saying is, if you care for him” and Jim is rather certain they _do_ care about one another even if he doesn’t quite understand it.

Jakes sighs. “You’re not going to leave well enough alone, are you.”

“No, considering you’re the one sitting in the pub and Morse isn’t here” he points out.

It seems this has only just occurred to Jakes as he stumps out his cigarette. “I could check up on him, of course. You know, as his superior officer.”

“He’ll love that” Jim says.

At least Jakes laughs at that.

* * *

The next day, it’s pretty clear they’ve patched things up. The tension that has been hanging around the station had disappeared and Morse looks less like he got runover on his way to work.

It was his first clue, when Morse suddenly showed up much better dressed. Jim wouldn’t be surprised to learn Jakes picks out his outfits, these days.

* * *

A month later, they have a bad case. Several heavy beatings, all connected with men who… like other men. He can tell that both Morse and Jakes are affected, but can’t very well ask if they knew the victims. Do those who – well, do they stick together? Jim has never thought about iz before.

At least during this case, it becomes clear the old man knows. He specifically tells Morse and Jakes to take care one night, and from the way his eyes glance between the two of them, it seems he figured it out a while back.

It’s the one good thing to come out of this – that Morse and Jakes know they have his blessing.

* * *

Time passes. If Jim had ever considered Morse and Jakes together, he would have thought that they’d make an odd pair, and one that wasn’t destined to last. And yet here they are, with Parliament having passed the new law, meaning they at least don’t run the risk of being kicked out or being arrested for what goes on in the privacy of their own homes anymore.

No. Their _home_.

Jim offered to help them move in. It’s a slightly bigger flat than either Jakes or Morse lived in before, and there’s already shelves for his colleague’s LPs.

Really, he reflects, Morse does look much better these days, now that he drinks less and actually has a good meal once in a while. He’s smiling brightly as he’s going through the boxes.

Jakes enters with another one and looks at Morse in a way no woman has yet bothered to look at Jim. Again, he might not understand what’s going on, but it’s pretty clear those two are going to make it after all.

* * *

“And so, to the happy couple who just got married – Endeavour Morse and Peter Jakes!”

Dev, having been conditioned by Peter years ago to accept being called by his first name, doesn’t even flinch anymore. Instead he concentrates on whatever he’s chatting about with Lewis while holding Peter’s hand.

Peter’s and Jim’s eyes meet and he smiles.

They’ve come a long way from secretly discussing a lover’s quarrel.


	19. Cut (Endeavour, Gen)

“Yes, I admit it, you were right” he finally snapped.

“Seems to me” Max said evenly “That this doesn’t mean a thing, considering I am stitching you up yet again.”

Morse mumbled something incomprehensible, but then, he didn’t need him to make sense now. What he needed to do was to make sure the damn wound stopped bleeding.

Really, that Morse had got injured on the job again was far from a surprise. The man was still living unhealthily, thin as a twig, and never managed to take care of himself. Of course everyone would get the best of him in a fight.

Still – he could have done without Morse getting knifed yet again and then neglecting to take care of his wounds, resulting in his stitches tearing while he was solving the latest case. The only reason DI Thursday hadn’t dragged him to the hospital was that he’d promised to come see Max, and if you asked him, that was hardly reassuring. After all, he was still a breathing man, not a corpse.

But still – there was nothing to do but make sure he didn’t bleed out accidentally while chasing down criminals.

“I – I might have paid better attention” he mumbled eventually. “But Jonson was going to get away and I couldn’t risk him getting away…”

“That may be, but I hardly think you bleeding out on the floor while he got away would have helped in any way.”

Morse glared at him, bunt Max didn’t acknowledge it. There were more important things to focus on. “Also, didn’t I tell you that you shouldn’t cut yourself on –“

“I told you, you were right! What more do you want!?” he hissed as Max carefully dabbed away the blood.

“Well, maybe that you don’t get injured every week. That would be something now, wouldn’t it” he said.

Morse fell silent, as if the idea genuinely hadn’t occurred to him before.

“Now hold still” he said, trying to sound as friendly as possible. Everyone knew that Morse, when pushed, only pushed back, leading to nothing but harsh words.

And so he worked on.

It was night – almost everyone had gone home; DI Thursday was waiting upstairs, having decided that he’d drive Morse home once Max was done, which he took as meaning that he’d do his best to actually drag him to the _Thursdays’ home_ and get a good meal into him. Max whole-heartedly approved but was careful not to mention it; most likely, Morse, who never seemed to accept any care bestowed on him unless it came unexpectedly, would probably protest if he realized.

“That should be fine now” he said once he’d finished, let’s get you to DI Thursday.”

“Hm?”

It was only then that he realized how exhausted Morse was. He was basically asleep already, but struggled to his feet upon Max’s words.

He thought it prudent troy stay near him, in case he keeled over.

When Morse shot him another glare – or rather, tried to, since he was struggling to keep his eyes open – he simply said “I have to get home eventually as well, you know”.

By the time they reached DI Thursday’s office, Morse seemed ready to just look for the nearest flat surface and pass out. Accordingly, his governor immediately got up from his desk, looking worried.

“A nice meal and a few days’ bedrest” Max told him quietly while Morse was busy holding himself up “And he’d be right a drain. But I do mean _bed rest_.”

He nodded. “Well then Morse, let’s get you home.”

“Sir?”

And DI Thursday all but dragged him away.

Max found himself left alone, but he didn’t mind. As long as DI Thursday made sure Morse was alright…

He still expected to find him at his desk the next morning and was surprised when he went upstairs to drop off a report and Morse was nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning” he said as he stepped into the DI’s office, “Morse is pursuing an inquiry, I expect?”

“Morse, if he knows what’s good for him, is staying in bed until Win lets him out” he replied. “We decided to let him wake up in his own time and feed him up a bit.”

Morse wouldn’t like that, Max was sure, but he was the last one to protest.

* * *

Morse showed up a few days later, looking much better than he had when Max had stitched him back up, but then he would have been surprised if a few days of Mrs. Thursday’s care produced no effect at all.

“How are the stitches?”

“Holding together” he uttered, “No one needs to make such a fuss.”

But even as he said so, he was trying to hide the sandwich that could only have been bestowed on him by one person in his desk.

Max went back to the morgue with a smile on his face.


	20. Mating Talk (Supernatural, Castiel/Dean Winchester)

Sam had tried and tried and tried, but when his brother was feeling stubborn, there was only so much he could do. Still – this was important. And so, he made another attempt.

“You could talk about it, you know” he said, faking innocence.

“What about?”

“You know.”

“Now, I damn well don’t, because you have just been annoying the past few days, and –“

“You. And Cas. You can talk about it, if you want”.

Their fight definitely deserved the moniker of _of epic proportions_, if you asked Sam – even if he couldn’t say what they had been fighting about; all he knew was that Cas had stormed off and not bothered to contact them since.

“There is nothing to talk about.”

“Oh? Then why did you have a shooting match again?” Sam was pretty sure he knew what was going on; after all, Dean ad Cas had been dancing around another for a long time. If only Dad hadn’t made Dean think that all omegas who got mated to alphas were weak and frail; his brother and best friend could have been happy _for years_ at this point.

Dean sighed. “You are not letting this go, are you.”

“Nope” he said happily.

Dean slumped into a chair and sighed. “It’s just – I just want him to be reasonable.”

Sam didn’t quite get what he meant, but assumed that this was about Cas making some sort of advance towards Dean and getting rejected.

“I mean – it’s really not necessary nowadays, is it. Mating marks and all of that.”

Wait, what? “Mating marks?”

Dean huffed. “I know. Cas just got it into his mind that we should both mark each other, and really, are we still in the Middle Ages –“

“But – shouldn’t you date before you get mated?”

Now Dean was blinking and looking confused. “Well, yeah.”

“But Dean” he replied “I mean it’s not like you’ve been…” he trailed off.

_“Where the hell have you been?”_

“Are you telling me that you and Cas –“

“We’ve been together for ten months now, Sammy, how did you miss that?”

“Well you never told me!”

“Sam, he spends the nights in my room. He’ around all the time. He wears my t-shirts.”

“I thought he was trying to court you by mixing your scents together!”

“Court me.” Dean threw his head back and laughed. “_Court me_.”

“Well it used to be the traditional way” Sam said sulkily.

“And what about our lives has ever struck you as traditional!?”

He had to concede the point.

Still… “You never really… act like a couple in public that’s all.”

Again, Dean only stared at him. “I travelled through all of Purgatory to find him. He gave up an army for me. What _doesn’t_ strike you as being coupl-y there?”

He had no idea what to say that. “Alright so you’re together. And Cas wants to mate?”

“I didn’t like the way he put it” Dean admitted. “Seemed to me like he wanted to own me, you know?”

“Doesn’t seem like Cas to me.”

“I know, I know. It was just the wording.” Dean sighed. “It’s just… the upbringing we had… you know I’ve got problems with alphas who go all preachy.”

And Sam would have been ready to bet that because of said upbringing, Dean had never been with an alpha in his life. But here they were, discussing whether or not he should get mated to his very much alpha angel-boyfriend.

“I still can’t see Cas wanting to control your or anything like that” he said carefully.

“Like I said, I knew. I just blew up on him, and then he blew up on me, and now he’s not taking my calls.”

“Are you taking his?”

Dean averted his gaze and it was answer enough.

This was... the opposite of what Sam had expected. He’d thought he would have to talk some sense into his brother, that he would have to convince him that he and Cas could indeed be happy together, not carefully going through a lover’s quarrel. “You know Cas loves you though, right?”

“Sammy, until five minutes ago you didn’t even know that we were dating.”

He simply made a bitchface, as Dean insisted on calling it. “Dean, it’s obvious how he feels about you.”

“I love him, too” he said simply, causing Sam to almost fall out of his chair. Had Dean Winchester actually just admitted to being in love and loved in return?

It seemed he had.

“I should try and call him again, shouldn’t I” he said resignedly.

“Yeah, and probably you should tell him why you got problems with the whole mating thing” Sam said. “Just a thought.”

“Fine, fine.”

Sam wasn’t sure it was fine, but since Cas returned to the bunker the next day and he found them cuddling on the couch in the afternoon, it seemed this storm at least had blown over.


	21. Change (Supernatural, Dean/Crowley)

Change, Crowley has often found, is annoyingly difficult. Mostly because most demons he knows are bloody stubborn and never could see why a better administration of Hell would ensure that more demons would eventually be created.

And of Corus he himself can’t be acquitted of being a rather evil son of a bitch, as Dean would probably have put it, in his time.

But still – here he is, trying to chance.

Trying to turn back human.

Because Dean, he knows very well, is not happy. Well, that’s not quite right – he is quite happy with their relationship, but there are only so many ways you can explain to your friends and family that you are dating a demon, and one you used to fight to boot. And most of said friends and family members are not inclined to listen to any of them to begin with.

And so, something has to give. For a while, Crowley feared that the thing that had to give would be their relationship altogether, but so far he’s shown no inclination to end things, insisting that Crowley having given up the throne is proof enough that this is serious.

But still – every time Sam ignores Crowley when they’re in the same room; or when Cassie makes some comment about demons and how they are all doomed (in itself not a problem – Crowley is very well aware that he is) and Dean’s face falls, he feels… something. Not remorse, of course – he is incapable of that – but something very similar, if he remembers correctly from his human days.

And so, here they are.

“Crowley, are you sure?” Cas asks, studying the ritual one more time. “This strikes me as a rather tough decision to make.”

“I told you, Dean deserves a normal, _human_ partner.”

“But what if Dean doesn’t want this? You should at least talk to him.”

The trouble is, of course, is that Castiel is right.

And so Crowley, who for better or worse decided when he got into a relationship with a hunter of all people that he should be honest with his partner at least, goes to talk to him.

* * *

Dean is cooking when he transports himself to the bunker. Sam used to moan about how they shouldn‘t have lowered their defences just so Crowley can drop by, but Dean put hiss foot down, so now he can come and go at all hours, which they both use to their advantage more often than not.

“Hey, want a –“

“I asked Cas to perform the ritual on me to turn me human.”

Dean turns around, his eyes wide. “What?”

“You heard what I said” he replies, feeling impatient. Despite liking to keep up the appearance of being nothing but a dumb hunter, Dean is actually rather intelligent, and pretending that he’s not has cost Crowley many of his nerves. Well, would have, if he’d had any to begin with.

“But – Crowley!” He put his cooking utensils away. “You love being a demon.”

“_Loved_. Something changed.”

“Oh? What did?”

Now he’s just teasing him, Crowley well knows. “How am I supposed to know?” he drawls. “I’m a demon I’m not supposed to change.”

“You’ve changed plenty since I met you. Man, I thought you were a dick at first.”

“And now?”

“Now I _know_ you’re a dick, but you’re my kind of dick” Dean grin s.

He rolls his eyes. “Can’t you be serious for once?”

“Nope, not today”. Dean’s hand settle on his hips as he draws him towards him. “You are aware that this would mean a lot of things. You’d grow old and die, for one. Eventually.”

He doesn’t tell him that he can’t and won’t imagine a world without Dean Winchester in it. He suspects he doesn’t have to.

“You have to be sure” Dean says suddenly and it’s pretty obvious from his expression that he*’s finally grown serious. “You have to be absolutely sure Crowley, because there is no going back.”

“I know that” he says, He’s been contemplating taking the step for months now. Partly so that Sam will shut up about them, but mostly to make Dean happy, since that has become his favourite pastime – much to the chagrin of the part of him that still enjoys his former hobbies.

“Alright then” Dean says, “But I’ll do the ritual. Just to make sure.”

He’s not queue certain what he wants to make sure of, but it’s rather obvious his lover won’t take no for an answer In this particular regard, so he acquiesces.

* * *

“Crowley?”

He opens his eyes.

“There you go” Dean says, smiling weakly at him.

He looks about as exhausted as Crowley feels. “Did it work?” he murmurs.

“Yep. Tested you and all. Perfectly human”.

“Come here then” he mumbles and holds out his hand, ready to begin his new human existence with a nap with his partner.


	22. Chance (Endeavour, Morse/Jakes)

Silence.

Darkness.

And, as always, the silent struggle of Morse to leave before he says anything.

Tonight he’s unlucky.

“We could have a chance.”

It’s quietly said, as if the words make any sense at all. He supposes that to Peter – no, _Jakes_ – they do.

“We’d never made it” he replies. He knows that because, even if the law passes, even if what they are doing will no longer be able to cost them their jobs, he’s the last person anyone should settle down with. Susan had a point when she broke off their engagement.

He’s trying to put on his trouser as quickly as he can when suddenly, there’s a hand at the small of his back. Reassuring. Comforting. All the things it shouldn’t be.

“Stay? It’s a Saturday.”

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows they should keep this to quick trysts after which they go their separate ways and try to find someone they can actually be with. He knows he should already be walking down the street, away from Peter – _Jakes_.

Instead he does what he always does, which is getting back to bed and cuddling close, pretending the outside world doesn’t exist and that they actually do have a chance.

* * *

They’re at the pub with their colleagues; another pub quiz. They take care not to sit too close, not to accidentally let their hands brush or their glances linger too long. After all, they are surrounded by coppers.

Sometimes Morse has the feeling that some of them have guessed. Max usually moves over as if per accident, so that he and Peter can sit next to each other without suspicion. And Trewlove now and then shoots him those knowing looks. He’s reasonably sure Strange is still ignorant, though.

Otherwise he’d hardly say, “You’ve gone quiet lately, Jakes. No new conquests?”

He doesn’t look at Morse as he lights a cigarette and answers “That bird Hope asked me out the other day.”

Morse’s heart sinks.

Hope is a real person. He knows because Peter told him about her, in the darkness of his bedroom where they lay pressed against one another.

* * *

Later, on the street. They are walking towards the same direction because their places are rather close together, really. It was an accident, like their first time.

A part of Morse wishes he could say the same for all the times that have followed. But another, bigger part of him…

He ignores it and asks, “So Hope asked you out?”

“Yes” Peter replies.

That’s it then, he tells himself. Everything as it should be. Peter will go out with Hope, and maybe it’ll work out, and they can forget about this silly thing between them like they should have a long time ago.

“Do you want me to go?” Peter asks abruptly.

He should say yes. He should give him his blessing, his blessing to go and be happy with someone suitable. He should.

Instead, he looks around and shoves Peter against the wall before kissing him.

He follows him home.

* * *

“It’s mighty decent, what you’re doing” Morse overhears Strange telling Peter.

There is only a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he replies, “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Not so sure about that. Can’t imagine Morse’ll be an easy roommate.”

“I’m certain we’ll find a balance.”

That… scoundrel, he thinks with a smile. God knows he should have ended things long ago, and instead, they are moving in together under the pretext that Morse needs to save money to pay Dad’s bills (he does, but that’s not the true reason for the move at all).

“I know how to handle him.”

That’s it, he’s getting punished tonight, Morse thinks with a smile.

* * *

Morse got a hit on the head. It’s not much, especially compared to other things he went through, but Thursday still insists that Peter bring him home.

“And look after him” he says, a certain tone in his voice making Morse believe that he knows very well that they are not just two work chums who’ve rented a place together.

Whenever Morse pictured a scene like this, he never imagined Thursday to be smiling.

* * *

They are holding hands and listening to the radio.

The law has passed.

“Told you” Peter says, “We could have a chance.”

Morse slumps against him, the relief that he can and that it’s legal to finally do so in their own home overwhelming him.

Peter puts his arm around him. “Probably best not to advertise it openly, though. Mrs. Bellows from next door would have a heart attack.”

Morse snorts against his neck. “No she wouldn’t. She referred to you as _your young man_ when speaking to me yesterday.”

“Really?”

Morse nods.

“I quite like being your young man.”

“And I like you to be my young man” he tells him honestly.


	23. Consolation (Lewis, Gen)

”Come on, lad. You can‘t give more than yourself”

James doesn’t look convinced, but then, having found a man – no, _a boy_ – hanging on the ceiling will do that to you.

Robbie, now, by the time he was his age, he had Val and the kids, and they were always enough to get him out of his own head if he was in a mood, but James…

“How about we get coffee?” he suggests. He could use some drinks too, but his gut feeling tells him that if James starts drinking now he won’t stop, and the last thing he wants is him going down that path – like Morse.

James looks surprised, but acquiesces.

“Awful thing” Robbie begins once they’re seated, “Young life snuffed out like that.”

“I could have saved him” James says suddenly.

Ah. That never ends well. What-ifs usually don’t. “You can’t know that.”

“But what if –“

And there it is. “James, don’t. What-ifs only break a copper’s heart. Believe me.” He still remembers Morse and his former fiancée, and how much it hurt to see him like this.

“Don’t we have an obligation to care?” James challenges him. “Don’t we have to look after the community?”

“Of course we have, but running oneself rugged won’t do any good at all, will it. I’ve seen enough people go down that road .” Mostly Morse; sometimes Robbie still wonders if – if he paid more attention, if he talked to the man, Morse might still be around. Although the thought of Morse meeting James makes him chuckle more than anything. They’d either get on like a house on fire or hate each other on first sight.

“That easy for you, is it” James says morosely, lighting a cigarette.

Robbie finds himself wondering why his partners always tend to have an unhealthy habit.

“No, it’s not. It never is. I think that’s the point. Once it gets easy, you aren’t fit to be a copper anymore. That’s how it goes.” He never quite got Morse’s philosophic views of the world, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t understand James either now and then, but if he learned anything from his long years with the DCI, it’s that sometimes it’s best to just say what’s on his mind and see what happens next.

“That doesn’t make any sense” James argues.

“And what about life has ever struck you to make any?” he asks, suddenly feeling rather defiant. After all, if anyone has the right to be morose here, it’s the widowed copper, surely? Not the one who has his whole life ahead of him yet.

To his surprise, James acquiesces. “You’re probably right about that” he mumbles.

“Oy, James. Look, feeling for the people we’ve sworn to protect – that’s a good thing. But you can’t let it get to you like that. That’s not going to help anyone.”

James looks away, but he feels like he’s made a point.

Or maybe not, since he suddenly says, “I could leave.”

“What?”

“Leave the force. You’re going to retire one of these days, and there is no reason for me to go on.”

It sometimes makes him uncomfortable, how much James seems to consider Robbie the only person he can work with, can be comfortable with. Makes him wonder if there is something about him that just draws lonely people in.

James and Morse. How different and yet how alike they are. Again, they would probably have hated each other, but Robbie can’t imagine who he would be if he hadn’t met them.

“There is every reason. You’re an excellent police man, James.”

“Not good enough to save him” he mutters.

Bloody hell. “James, yes, we didn’t save him. But there will be others. And some we’ll manage to save, and some we won’t. That’s just how it is. It’s life. It’s not perfect and it never will be, and maybe that’s the point.”

James takes another drag then says, “It does strike me as rather unfair, though.”

“Yes, that’s why we exist in the first place” he replies.

James looks at him, then, but at least his eyes look clearer then they were when they sat down, so Robbie figures he must have done something right.

“Take your time with your coffee. No reason to rush back to the nick”.

It’s not like Laura will be done with the autopsy any time soon – she’s very diligent, always has been.

James finally nods, and then they are just sitting there, being silent together. It’s a silence Robbie knows well. He’s shared it countless times with James, like he did with Morse.

Granted, it’s not like they’ve solved anything. A boy is still dead, and James will have to deal because that’s what one does in cases like this.

But for now, it is enough.


	24. Definition (Supernatural, Dean/Crowley)

”So when do we get to meet him?”

“Who?” Crowley asks immediately because there is no one for Gavin and Fiona to meet. He wouldn’t even be in regular contact with his son if his daughter-in-law didn’t insist on Sunday family dinners.

“Your young man” she says, her eyes sparkling. “Gavin told me.”

Of course he did because there are no secrets between his son and his wife. Then again, this is Crowley’s own fault – he should never have mentioned Dean. “He’s not _my_ young man.”

“And when did you last voluntarily visit the cinema before he came along?”

“Dean wanted to see the newest Star Trek film.” It’s the wrong thing to say of course – they immediately start grinning.

“Star Trek, Father, really?”

He carefully contemplates his next words. “Anyway we’re not… romantically involved.”

Now Gavin looks utterly baffled. “You _aren’t_?”

“We’re… friends” he says, being painfully aware that he sounds rather juvenile and that he of all people is not the kind of person who makes friends and keeps them.

And aside from all of this – he would actually welcome Dean Winchester in his bed any time.

Only that Dean has given him no indication that he would enjoy that.

“I just didn’t think you were one not to close the deal” Gavin says pointedly.

“Patience is not something I’m known for” he agrees.

“So what’s the problem?”

“There is no problem. We’re friends.”

“Father, you see each other multiple times a week, you have dinner together most of the time, you _watched a movie for him_, he fixed your car just because he could – sure sounds like dating to me.”

It does to Crowley too, but then, he has no experience with either relationships or friendships. Even Gavin was the product of a short-lived fling. “You seem strangely preoccupied with my relationship status. How’s work?”

Gavin snorts. “Subtle, Father.”

“Subtlety doesn’t work on you.”

“Imagine that” Fiona mutters “Must be hereditary.”

He glares at her. She doesn’t react.

He already knew his son had chosen the right woman to marry, but it was still nice to get confirmation.

* * *

“So, how was your family dinner?” Dean asks the next day. They’ve decided to meet up during their respective lunch breaks.

He looks at the professor. Dean always asks after Gavin and Fiona; he was very supportive of his decision to accept their first invitation to dinner. “The usual”.

“Aren’t we communicative today” Dean smiles in the way that never fails to lighten up Crowley’s entire life (the first time he realized, he was rather dismayed, but by now he’s gotten used to his heart speeding up).

“They want to meet you” he suddenly says.

He had no idea he was going to.

“Oh?” Now Dean’s smile is growing even brighter, which is not something Crowley thought was possible. “You told them about me.”

“I might have mentioned you”. He decided that’s the best approach, lest Dean realizes how much their friendship (friendship, only ever friendship) means to him.

“I’ll be happy to meet them, then” Dean says as if it’s not a big deal.

* * *

“And so Crowley turned around and told that idiot off, it was awesome” Dean finishes another anecdote that proves how hopelessly gone on him Crowley is, and if Gavin’s expression is anything to go by, it’s as painfully obvious as he fears it is.

Fiona is obviously enchanted with Dean, but then Crowley has yet to find someone who isn’t. People just gravitate towards him. Hell, even Crowley himself, who normally prefers to just have a quite day after a busy day and go home, simply had to introduce himself to the beautiful man at the bar.

“Father” Gavin mutters while Dean is thankfully distracted by Fiona, “You’re staring.”

He knows he is. But then, he can’t imagine someone more worthy of being looked at.

* * *

When it’s time to say goodbye, it’s pretty clear that Dean will from now on be included in all invitations.

“It was so nice to meet you” Fiona says drawing Dan into a hug.

“Same here. About time, too” he turns to Crowley. “After all we’ve been dating for, what? Five months now?”

Crowley would answer but finds himself struck speechless for the first time in his adult life.

“I think so” Fiona says brightly. “At leas he started mentioning you then.”

Dean just grins.

* * *

Dean is driving, of course, and they end up at Crowley’s apartment. He’s not quite sure how to breach the topic when Dean pushes him against the wall and starts to kiss him profoundly.

He doesn’t explain; instead when he pulls back he just says “I wasn’t sure but figured it out tonight.”

Crowley decides that for once in his life, he doesn’t need to understand everything that’s happened, especially since Dean is busy leading him to the bedroom.

Explanations can wait.


	25. Meals (Good Omens, Crowley/Aziraphale)

**Vienna 1694**

Crowley doesn’t much care for eating. Most food doesn’t taste that good, if you ask him, and there is something unpleasant about chewing.

But his objections don’t matter since Aziraphale _likes_ to eat. Crowley figures it’s like him and sleep.

And so he saunters up to him. “Hey, Azirapahale. I could eat something”.

The angel turns around and studies him carefully, as usual when they meet up. Crowley has of course made sure that he is dressed impeccably. “I thought you didn’t like to eat. Also, what if we get spotted?”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Not because that danger doesn’t exist, but because they all know how this ends. Aziraphale always gives in when he – well, tempts him with dinner.

And he does give in this time as well.

Surprise.

**Barcelona 1746**

He and Aziraphale have shared countless meals since their Arrangement started (and even did some before then, if memory serves correctly).

And yet it never gets old to watch the angel eat. Maybe because he enjoys it that much. He takes small nibbles and makes happy noises, and it’s absolutely mesmerizing.

Sometimes Crowley wonders why he likes to watch him eat so much, then decides he probably shouldn’t be questioning that.

After all, as Aziraphale loves to remind him, they are an angel and a demon and aren’t supposed to even _talk_ to each other.

But still, here they are, having dinner again. They were sent to the same city for some minor temptations and blessings (and Crowley might have known about this and chosen not to contact Aziraphale in order to remind him of the Arrangement, instead wanting to meet up, but he is never going to know that).

“And? Any good?”

“Oh this is simply marvellous, you should really try it –

And Crowley allows himself to enjoy their meal together. After all, it has been a while since the last met.

**Paris 1987**

Of course Aziraphale would go off to have crepes again just as Crowley is about to visit him. At least he’s not hard to find, and so he goes off to search for him. “Aziraphale!”

“Crowley! What are you doing here?” he asks, glancing around.

Seems like he got another visit from upstairs, then. They tend to make him jumpy. But Crowley has almost six millennia of experience hiding from his bosses and knows they don’t check up on him nearly as often as they pretend to, and neither does Heaven.

And so he sits downs across from him. “Could have let me know where you were going.”

“You still don’t like eating” he reminds him.

That’s true, but he also really, _really_ likes spending time with Aziraphale and so he stays exactly where he is.

**London 2019**

Here they aren, then. The Apocalypse has been averted. In all honesty, Crowley didn’t really expect them to make it.

God Herself must have wanted them to. It’s the most logical explanation especially since they also found Agnes Nutter’s last prophecy and it saved them.

And so Crowley has decided to actually cook something for the both of them. Granted, he’s never cooked before, but it’s all chemistry in the end – mix the right ingredients and wait. And, furthermore, this is what youtube is for.

Plus, he doesn’t think anyone could ruin pasta. It’s too easy.

He does manage, and half an hour later there is a well-smelling bowl of pasta in his kitchen. He calls Aziraphale. “Angel, I just cooked something. Want to come over?”

There; just the right amount of casualness. Nothing too eager and nothing too indifferent.

Aziraphale acquiesces, of course. As always.

* * *

“This is delicious, dear!”

He’s started calling him that, lately. And it never feels to make Crowley’s heart beat faster.

“Glad you like it” he manages to say.

“Only…” Aziraphale puts his fork down and studied him.

“What is it?” he asks.

“You still don’t like to eat. You have never like to eat” he states, correctly. “So why would you cook?”

“I –“ he hesitates. “I knew you’d probably like it” he finally admits quietly.

“Oh Crowley, you did this for me?”

He nods, feeling rather unsure of himself.

Aziraphale reaches over and takes his hand, and for a moment he could swear his heat actually stops. After all, since when is his angel the one to make the first step? On the contrary, Crowley’s the one who has to draw him out, has to make sure he agrees to the Arrangement, has to tell him they need to do something about the Antichrist.

But here is Aziraphale, continuing to eat while holding his hand.

Crowley experimentally gives it a size and is rewarded with a gentle smile.

Then and there he swears to himself that he will make sure he smiles like that every day for the rest of their lives.


	26. Warmth (Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley)

Aziraphale has known for most of their… acquaintance that Crowley has a problem during the cold seasons. Or rather – problem might be exaggerating; but he was, after all, the original serpent, and so he has retained some… snake-y attributes.

And his dislike of the cold is definitely one of them. He tends to grow rather sluggish and drowsy if he’s not dressed properly or doesn’t pay attention to his own needs.

Formerly, there was precious little Aziraphale could do about that. But now since they are (he fights a blush) officially together, he considers it his duty to make sure that his beloved demon is as comfortable as he can be in winter.

And so, he’s raised the temperature of the bookshop, even if this means he has to use a few minor miracles in order to protect the older ones of his books.

Crowley notices immediately when he strolls in and kisses him (another blush) because of course he does. “What’s with the temperature, angel?”

“It is getting colder” he says. “I just thought it’d be nice for the customers.”

“You don’t want customers” Crowley points out, correctly.

“Still – I wouldn’t want anyone to get cold” he tries.

Crowley apparently accepts that explanation.

* * *

Crowley starts coming over even more often than he already tended to – in other words, he all but moves in.

Aziraphale can’t help but feel happy about that. So what if the demon mostly means to keep warm by hanging around? They’ve already wasted so many years, they deserve to spend as much time together as they can.

And then the cuddling starts.

It’s not really that much of a surprise, all things considered. When they first became… more than friends, Aziraphale soon learned that Crowley, for all his aloofness, is a rather touchy sort of person. He often steals kisses and holds his hands during their walks.

But so far, he didn’t make a habit of simply propping down on the couch beside Aziraphale when he’s reading and cuddling up to him.

He doesn’t mind. In fact, it’s rather the opposite.

“What are you reading anyway?” Crowley asks one day.

Aziraphale jumps – until now he was rather certain that the demon had dozed off. “Of Mice And Men”.

“Ah. A gloomy one.” He snuggles a bit closer. “Never really liked those.”

Until recently, he still insisted that he didn’t like books, period, but Azirpahale doesn’t mention it. “Steinbeck was a genius”.

“If you say so” Crowley mutters against his neck and Aziraphale feels heat travel all over his body.

It’s a good day.

* * *

Eventually, he realizes that Crowley has been staying at his place for several weeks now, and that some of the regular customers he’s accumulated despite everything over the years have come to see him as Aziraphale’s partner (which of course he is in every sense of the word, but they rarely talk of it).

Granted, Crowley leaves now and then to check up on his plants, but that’s about it. At least he is normally well bundled up these days, since Aziraphale has made it his mission to ensure that he is warm and comfortable when stepping out into the cold.

He’s stull usually shivering when he returns home, though – and so Aziraphale makes a decision.

“Say” he begins one evening, “Why don’t you bring your plants over, dear?”

At first, Crowley doesn’t answer and Aziraphale wonders if he’ll pretend he’s not said anything, but then he asks, “Are you sure?”

“Of course. We can miracle the flat a little bigger, make sure all your furniture fits in.” Not that they’ll need many more rooms; Crowley still hasn’t bought many more things, despite the fact that he seems to be rather fond of Aziraphale’s flat. But then, he’s constantly surprised that the demon seems so… well, satisfied as long as he can simply stay around Aziraphale.

* * *

It doesn’t take long to put their two places together. And Heaven and Hell never complain about any miracles being performed, these days. Not after they chose their faces wisely and survived their so-called “trials”.

And Crowley’s plants really do look well in their new room with big windows, as if they were always meant to eventually end up here.

“You know” Crowley tells him that night as they lie together in bed “You don’t have to keep your shop that warm. I’m aware it harms some of the books.”

“Really, dear, it doesn’t matter –“

“Of course it does” he says, pulling Aziraphale closer, “But it’s really not necessary. _You_ keep me warm.”

“So that’s why you like cuddling up to me?”

Crowley chuckles. “No. I like cuddling up to you because I like cuddling up to you. But warmth is an added bonus.”

Aziraphale smiles in the darkness.

Well, then. He’s more than happy to be a source of warmth.


	27. Waiting (Endeavour, Morse/Joan)

The last thing he expects after… everything is for her to come to him. She declined his proposal, she never mentioned it again, and he was thoroughly convinced that this was that.

But still – her she is, on a normal evening for him, which means he has been drinking and reading while listening to Wagner.

“Miss Thursday” he steps aside to let her in, hoping that there’s not another emergency. As far as he’s been able to tell, she seems to be doing better, lately. At least she’s moved back home and Mrs. Thursday’s smiles are genuine again.

“Joan would be more appropriate, don’t you think?” she asks.

As she studies his living room once more, he takes her in. She looks… nervous is the best word he can come up with.

“I…” she swallows. “Do you ever imagine a situation and when it actually happens, it’s way more complicated than you thought?”

He nods because in his experience that’s what usually happens.

“It’s – I –“ she breaks off then laughs. “God. _Why_ does everything have been so complicated?”

It’s a good question, and one he has often asked himself.

“But – no, I am doing this for God’s sake” she huffs. “So. I’ve been thinking a lot of… when I was last here. Do you remember?”

He does. How could he not? But she clearly doesn’t expect him to answer, so he doesn’t.

“And – I guess – God, I know it is strange to come on to you like this after saying no, but – especially since I’m not ready – “ She sighs. “What I mean to say is – is it possible that – can you wait for me?”

“Wait for you`?” he repeats.

She nods. “I’m working through some things still – I guess it was only to be expected – but I think – I think maybe we could be great. If we do this right.”

He can’t help it – he laughs. Mostly because he doesn’t think either of them has ever done anything right when it comes to their… he can’t even call it a relationship.

She joins in. “I know, I know.”

“Joan” he says quietly and she falls silent at the mention of her first name. “I – of course I can wait for you.”

“Of course?”

He nods.

She hesitates, then steps up to him and gently kisses his cheek. “I’ll – I’ll see you around then=”

He nods again, struck speechless.

She leaves.

* * *

Morse doesn’t know what this waiting she expects of him – she asked him for – actually maintains, but apparently it means that not a week later, she shows up and asks him out to dinner as friends. He hasn’t eaten all day which she seems to guess at least.

And so he accompanies here and asks for juice when he sees her eye him suspiciously at the pub.

Joan relaxes and smiles at him and for the first time in a week, it feels like he can breathe.

* * *

After that, they meet up regularly. He supposes that, if other activities were involved, it could be said they are dating, but she asked him to wait, so that is what he does.

The Thursdays all seem happier though, so he is content, too. Or at least he’s drinking less. In his darker moments, he thinks he can’t tell the difference anymore.

* * *

They are spending the evening at his flat; Joan has asked him to introduce him to more of his music. Morse’s made tea and is doing his best not to doze off. It’s been a long day but he doesn’t want to cut short any time he gets to spend with Joan.

A hand on his arm startles him; he didn’t realize his eyes had closed. He starts to apologize but she hushes’ him. “Just relax.”

And then he’s lying down, and gentle fingers are running through his hair, and he drifts off into the most relaxed sleep he’s had in a while.

* * *

He wakes up having been carefully tucked in; Joan is making breakfast. “You didn’t have to do that” he tells her.

“I wanted to. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I slept in your bed; I hope you don’t mind.”

He tries not to blush at the thought and fails.

She giggles. “You look cute when you do that.”

He wants to protest but she stops all of it by losing him. “And now sit down; time to get some meat on those bones.”

She sounds remarkably like her mother, but this is clearly not the moment to bring it up.

It seems he has waited long enough. But can it really be that easy?

Based on her humming to the radio, it seems to be. 

Granted, he would probably have liked some form of warning but really, he can’t bring himself to care too much as he sits down to eat.


	28. Enough (Endeavour, Morse/Jakes)

”Enough! I heard enough“ Thursday finally snapped. He’d really had enough of Jakes and Morse being at one another’s throat.

It had started a few weeks ago, and so far, he failed to find an explanation. He’d thought that they were getting along better but now, it was worse than ever.

It was clear that Strange was equally as baffled as he was.

“Morse, you’re with me”. They needed to interview a witness anyway, so they might as well use this opportunity to separate Morse and Jakes for a bit.

Strange seemed relieved.

* * *

“What’s wrong?” he decided to jump in immediately when they were alone in the car.

“What do you mean, sir?”

“You and Jakes. What’s going on there?”

He didn’t know what reaction he had expected, it had certainly not been a sharp intake of breath.

When he glanced at Morse, he saw that the lad looked panic-stricken.

What the –

And then he put the pieces together and almost cursed pout lot. He should have realized. He had known they were getting along much better than before, that they had grown closer –

He hadn’t realized just _how_ close.

Morse was till struggling to find something to say.

And so he decided that he was going to let him off the hook for now. “Well, just try and get along, will you? Strange looked stressed.”

Morse took a relieved breath. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

* * *

Now, Fred knew about men like… men like jakes and Morse, he supposed.

He knew it was forbidden, but he himself had a long history of turning a blind eye when he could. He had never felt like people should be punished for who they loved. He’d had a sergeant, in the war, who’d hinted occasionally at having a partner at home instead of the _wives_ Fred and the other chaps had spoken of and he had been one of the best men he’d ever known.

Still…

He supposed he was a little concerned about Morse and Jakes – well.

First of all, he didn’t think it was a good sign that they were pretending not to like each other at all in order to hide what they were doing behind closed doors. It didn’t strike him as healthy.

And then… well, again, he had believed that Jakes was slowly coming round to Morse but… deeper feelings?

What he was trying to say was that – he just wanted to make sure all was well between them.

And so, he began to watch them.

* * *

The first clue that his fears had been unfounded came that very night. Seeing as the case had been harrowing for all of them, he had opted to send Morse and Jakes home and let himself be driven by a PC himself.

So he was surpassed when he exited his office and heard their voices. They appeared to be coming from file storage and he almost subconsciously stole over, walking as quietly as he could.

“And you’re sure he knows?”

“He figured it out” Morse sounded miserable. I’m sorry. I tried to be subtle, but when he asked –“

“Hey”. Clothes rustling, and Fred had the sudden and distinct impression that jakes had drawn Morse into his arms. “He didn’t say anything against it, did he? And he certainly didn’t treat us any differently.”

“No” he said quietly.

“See? All’s well, then. You know the Old Man can be discreet when he needs to, and I don’t think he has a problem with it unless we start snogging in front of him.”

Morse giggled. Actually _giggled_. “That would be interesting, though. And just imagine Strange’s reaction”.

Jakes laughed, low and happy, and Fred knew then that what they had was real.

* * *

After that day, they no longer pretended they weren’t at least friends, although to Fred’s relief they remained careful.

He was rather sure Strange still didn’t have a clue. Trewlove might have guessed, tough, and it seemed like Doctor DeBryn knew – at east when Morse got injured yet again, it was him who automatically called Jakes to let him know what had happened.

All in all, Morse looked healthier and more content than he had in the recent past, and that was enough for Fred to be happy as well.

* * *

Time went on. The happy trend of Morse taking better care of himself continued, and he’d even begun to dress sharper, which Fred attributed to Jakes.

They still managed to get by without letting anyone know.

Even if Superintendent Bright had lately done a few allusions to Morse and Jakes and their improved relations.

They had agreed to keep silent. After all, Morse and Jakes were both excellent detectives ion their own way.

And then there was the thing that Win had said earlier today.

As they drove to yet another crime scene – Morse was driving and Jakes was in the back – he said, “Our Win’s been wondering if you two would like to come over for dinner this weekend.”

During that dinner, both Fred and Jakes would laugh at the look on Morse’s face at that moment.


	29. Finality (Supernatural, Dean/Castiel)

Dean knows what Cas is going to say, mostly because he always says the exact same thing when things go awry.

The difference is that this time, he is done with it all.

“I’m doing this for you, Dean” his husband argues and he simply can’t go on.

What’s the point, that’s the question. What’s the goddamn point of him accepting the same apology over and over and over again when nothing changes?

“Cas –“

“Dean, I’m sorry, but –“

“But!?” he knows his voice is too loud, that he’s not in the right state of mind for this discussion, but he needs to get this out of the way now, before his courage leaves him. “Bobby went to the hospital, Cas, and you couldn’t bother to pick up your phone.”

“Sorry if I am trying to build up a union in order to help you and others like you –“

“Too bad you married a simple woodworker then and not a hot-shot lawyer like you and Sammy” he snaps. And really, he doesn’t care anymore, because the man he looks upon as a father is in the hospital after suffering a heart attack and they don’t even know yet if he’ll make it out okay, and Cas is talking about work. “And that Bobby had to get sick. Sorry. Didn’t plan on it.”

Cas’ eyes soften, but Dean realizes with a sudden surge of pain that it’s too late. It’s too late because this is the thousandth chance he’s given Cas, the thousandth chance to remember that they’re married and that they should consider each other an important part of their lives too, and he can’t stand it anymore.

“Dean, I do not mean –“

“Ever since I told you – have you even been thinking about Bobby?” Bobby and Cas were close once, Dean is ready to swear it. But then came work and work and work and apparently nothing matters these days but what Cas is busy doing while Dean is struggling to catch up, struggling to make their relationship still work.

Only it doesn’t work, these days, does it. Most days, he stays up, dinner slowly cooling in front of him, until Cas stumbles in, tells him he already ate and goes to bed, only to get up before Dean and not even waking him.

And that’s not how relationships are supposed to go. This is not what their relationship used to be. He knows that because he, unlike Cas, actually seems to remember how wonderful their marriage was.

And so he interrupts whatever explanation Cas has now come up with, “You know what? Forget it” and goes to grab his overnight bag.

He might as well stay in the hospital.

* * *

“You know, darling, this isn’t where I thought you’d end up.”

Dean blinks blearily and identifies the one who woke him up. “Crowley?”

“Alright, so that’s a good sign. Granted, I hoped you’d say something like _Who is this incredibly handsome stranger_, but still –“

At least Crowley’s Crowley still, he thinks as coffee and a croissant are pressed into his hands. “Bobby –“

“Out of danger” he tells him, looking as relived as Dean feels, because that’s Crowley’s thing – he likes to pretend he’s a bastard when really, he is undeniably a softie when it comes to his friends and family. “Ellen told me to let you know.”

He breathes a sigh of relief.

“She also said you came back to the hospital looking rather more pissed than worried, which is not like you at all” Crowley continues smoothly, settling down on the uncomfortable chair next to Dean, and oh dear, _Crowley wants to actually talk_.

Dean could try and dissuade him from it, but he is tired and saved and also incredibly relieved at the same time, and so he takes a deep breath and says “It’s over.”

“What –“ he watches as Crowley pits the pieces together, sooner than Sammy would have done because in the last few months, considering Sam’s and Cas’ friendship, Dean has rather gone to Crowley to complain than to his brother. “Oh.”

“Oh” he agrees because he knows only too well there is nothing one can say.

“Need a place to stay, then?”

Bless Crowley, really. Most of the time, he knows exactly what’s to say. “Yes. That would be nice.”

“Alright then. I assume you want to see Bobby first?”

He nods.

“Good, darling. Good good good. How about you do that, and I’ll put that in my car –“ Crowley grabs his bag. “And then we’ll go home.”

He’s just happy that someone is making decisions for him because his last decision, while the right one, still feels wrong deep down because he loves his husband. He really does.

But sometimes there’s nothing you can do.

So he’ll go see Bobby and then he’ll move on.

He always does. 


	30. Help (Supernatural, Dean/Crowley)

Dean has known Crowley for some time. Really, they were probably always going to meet up, seeing as he’s the sheriff of their small town and Crowley is a colleague-slash-more-like-rival of Sammy’s, and a very successful one at that.

Still – they didn’t meet in a court room; instead Dean ended up pulling over one day because there was a limousine stranded on the side of the road and the driver was rather desperately trying to make it work.

That desperation was explained when he learned that the owner of said limousine was still sitting in it, growing rather impatient.

So Dean helped him out and considered Crowley a grumpy yet sadly good-looking man and nothing more until he mentioned the incidence to Sammy and got a whole lecture about how Crowley is apparently _the worst_.

Only Dean has yet to see evidence of that. Well – no, on the other hand, not really; since Crowley strolled into the station and invited him to lunch to thank him for making his car work, he’s learned that he can be a vindictive bastard when he wants to be, and he’s prone to lie and cheat to reach his desires outcomes, but despite all of that, Dean wouldn’t call him evil or anything like that.

God knows he himself can be a son of a bitch when he wants, too.

Really, when he thinks about it, he’s spent a lot of time with Crowley, lately. Benny has already made comments and Charlie keeps throwing them these knowing looks.

It’s not his fault that Crowley didn’t have any friends when they met so he had to introduce him into their circle, is it?

Still…

If he wondered about it, if he considered the nature of their relationship at all, things could get complicated very quickly, so he doesn’t.

And then he gets the report about an accident near the court house at a time when he knows Sam is just on his way to a hearing.

And he cannot. Reach. Sammy.

He’s sent out all his deputies. He’s the only one available.

_Oh my God. _

What if…

He’s dialled the number before he realizes what is going on.

“Dean?”

Later, he’ll think that it’s pretty telling that Crowley already sounds worried but then, it’s not his usual time to call. “Crowley, there’s been an accident near the court house. Sammy’s supposed to be there, and I can’t reach him.”

Silence, then, “I’m picking you up.”

“I am the sheriff, I need to go there –“

“Yes, but you’re in no state to drive.”

“Crowley –“

“Dean, I’m with you, you know that.”

He wonders if he did indeed know that until now or if he is surprised. He’ll figure it out when he’s not freaking out over the possibility that Sam could be injured.

“I’ll be there in five minutes”.

Dean wants to remark that he knows for a fact that Crowley’s office is about a twenty minutes drive away from the station, but he’s already hung up.

And he does arrive give minutes later, driving himself for once. Huh. Seems like he didn’t trust Garth to break all the speed rules.

“Get in”.

Dean does.

“What if –“

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Crowley is being so terribly nice it’s almost bizarre.

Dean didn’t know how much he cared for him until now, but as stated, that would make things complicated and he’s not looking for complicated, _especially_ not now.

When they arrive at the scene he gets out and forces himself to go in to full sheriff mode. He calls the hospital to make sure the ambulance is on its way then walks towards the car, Crowley trailing behind him.

Despite the worry that immediately follows, he can’t help but feel relieved when he sees a shock of blonde hair. “Jo?”

“Hey, sheriff” she says somewhat weakly, “Pretty sure my left leg’s broken, but I don’t think I’m bleeding out.”

He quickly makes sure of that.

“Jo? Are you alright?”

“Does it look like I am, Sasquatch?” she snaps even as Dean turns to Sam.

Who’s staring right past him.

Small wonder; when Dean checks what’s going on, it becomes quickly obvious that Crowley is busy dealing with everything the way the most diligent of deputy sheriffs would.

“I didn’t know – could have been you” he says weakly. “So Crowley insisted on driving me.”

“Didn’t think he’d make that good a boyfriend” Sam answers.

“Well, he –“ Dean breaks off because at this point, it’s ridiculous. He now recalls, although he didn’t notice it at the time, that Crowley basically squeezed his knee the whole drive to calm him down.

And so he strolls over. “Hey, partner.”

Crowley looks at him., “I thought I might as well make myself yourself.”

He kisses him matter-of-factly. “You are. Now let’s handle this.”

He’ll laughs about Crowley’s shocked but delighted expression for years to come.


	31. Vampire Hunt (Endeavour, Gen)

It’s a bad case. Vampire ones usually are. When they go feral, they just attack whoever happens to have a poise in their vicinity, and humans have little to no chances when a vampire jumps them.

Three dead, so far. One luck (or unlucky, depending on how one looks at it) victim got changed instead.

Fred has not only been busy trying to catch the feral vampire, but also by watching Morse. He still doesn’t know the details, but his bagman has dropped enough hints over the years to make him rather sure that the untimely demise of Morse’s mother had a supernatural cause.

Maybe even a vampire. Everything is possible when it comes to magic and creatures.

He’s currently working on the city map. Hey have to find the vampire – a male one, the changed victim said – quickly before even more people get preyed on.

* * *

At night, everyone’s been assigned a district of the city to watch. Fred and Morse are in the car, patrolling the streets.

From the corner of his eyes, he sees Morse trembling ever so slightly. “There’s no shame in being scared” he says quietly. “This is a vampire we’re talking about.”

“Scared, me?” Morse answers, sounding slightly sarcastic, but Fred could tell it was just an automatic defence mechanism. “Don’t worry, sir.”

“I wasn’t worried.” In fact, if he trusts anyone to have his back, it’s Morse. Strange is a little bit too ambitious for his liking, too eager to suck up to the higher-ups, and he and Jakes never clicked the way he and Morse did from the beginning.

Then, suddenly, “Sir, there’s something in the shadows.”

He stops the car. The curfew the mayor imposed means they’re alone on the road. “Are you sure?”

“Yes” he says, still peering out into the darkness.

“Alright. Get the swords.” Personally, Fred prefers his gun, but bullets don’t do anything against vampires.

* * *

They stay close together. There is now other way to hunt vampires than staying close. Otherwise he’d just pick them off one after the other.

They move quietly and efficiently.

And then Fred hears it.

Feral vampires may be incredibly dangerous, and they may be able to tackle several humans at once if they chose to, but they also all snarl and announced their presence because they can’t hold back.,

“Morse, to your right!”

His bagman jumps just out of the vampire’s reach in time. The vampire predictably reacts by going after Fred.

He slashes towards the neck and misses and then the vampire’s atop of him, snarling and ready to bit into his jugular.

“Sir!”

He tries to twists away – Morse might not take the chance for fear of cutting him. He manages to avoid getting bitten but he can only hold out for so long.

“Sir!”

He wonders where the others are, and then he wonders if he’s going to be one of the “lucky” ones.

And then it’s all over.

He rolls the headless corpse off of him and takes a few deep breath as Morse leans over him, clearly worried. “Sir!” he repeats, then starts all but clawing at his neck. “Did he –“

“I don’t think so:”

“Thank God” Morse breathes in relief when he sees his unblemished skin.

“That’s over with, then” he says as he gets up. “Call in and let them know.”

* * *

The paperwork is dealt with soon enough. Morse has grown quiet, and Fred knows that’s not a good thing. A quiet Morse means a brooding Morse, and a brooding Morse easily gets lost in his own head.

Therefore, he considers it best to drag him home with him for the night. The lad tries to protest, of course, but they’re all equally exhausted and Fred’s not taking no for an answer.

As soon as they arrive at their house, he puts the kettle on. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Morse isn’t looking at him. “I shouldn’t have jumped aside.”

“There was nothing else you could have done” he says firmly. What can he possibly be thinking –

“You almost got changed. Or killed. Because I jumped aside.”

“You ducked. It’s what one does when a vampire comes running and one doesn’t happen to have a good angle for a hit.”

“But –“

“No buts, Morse. I’m still here, am I not. And that’s because of you, too.”

Morse is silent but looks a bit less serious. Good. They should be getting to bed, anyway. “You can have Sam’s bed.”

“I really don’t – I’m sure I can sleep on the couch, sir –“

“Don’t be daft. Of course you can have the bed.”

Now Morse’s smiling, somewhat weakly, it’s true, but still, he’s smiling.

When they reach Sam’s room, Fred reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “Get some rest. Things’ll look better in the morning.”

“Good night, sir” he quietly agrees and Fred takes it for what it is. They are still here, and in the morning it’ll be doing the same old work all over again.

But now, they rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I had to finish this month with a Halloween story. Happy Halloween!


End file.
